


Odds and Ends

by Sleepy_fan



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AU, ConHayth Week 2016, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_fan/pseuds/Sleepy_fan
Summary: A collection of shorter fics for the 2016 ConHayth week





	1. Pyrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> A missing scene after the end of the warehouse mission.

As they walked back to Haytham’s mansion, both to them soaked to the bone and shivering a little in the cold night air, Haytham noticed that Connor was staying much closer to him than was appropriate. Perhaps it was simply because Connor, like himself, was freezing cold, certainly he could see that the stubborn Assassin was shivering violently and had been since they had left the waters of the bay. Part of Haytham wanted to indulge in a bit of tongue-lashing for the foolish behavior that Connor had displayed, in charging the locked second story door after having tackled him in the burning warehouse.

Yes they had been in considerable danger, but had Connor waited a couple more moments, Haytham would have been able to pick the lock and they would have been able to climb down, avoiding getting soaked. They were lucky to have not landed on hard pavement, which might have broken bones – or at least severely bruised the both of them as they landed…. On the other hand, it was the fastest way to get out of the warehouse, which was starting to collapse in on itself, but the sounds that he could faintly hear.

The both of them heard rushed footsteps – and more than one set as well. Quick as a bolt of lightning, Connor grabbed Haytham and hid in an alleyway, holding his breath as a dozen soldiers ran past them heading towards the warehouse fire, with one of them shouting instructions to the others to start a fire brigade. Only once Connor was certain that the guards could not see him, did he let Haytham go and they continued on their way.

“… Connor?” Haytham asked, trying to catch his son’s attention, as from the look in Connor’s eyes, his mind was far away. He remembered that Ziio had died in a fire, one that had claimed most of his son’s village… Had… Connor…?

“British Soldiers and fire rarely mix well from what I have heard.” Connor answered, staying closer than before, his second sight active as he searched for any more potential enemies.

Haytham carefully approached his beloved, gently wrapping an arm around the other’s waist. “You keep watch for soldiers, and I will take us home, yes? Thank you for your vigilance, Connor.” He knew that it was more than likely that he would not be able to gently talk Connor down from watching for British soldiers, so guiding the younger man to where they could get warm, and get dry clothes was what he could do. Haytham knew that more than a couple of native villages had been burned down by the British Army in the Seven Years’ war, claimed to be done by the commanders to villages because they had sided with the French. As Connor’s village had been almost entirely neutral during the war and had not been spared from the torch, Haytham knew for certain that was utter and complete horse shit. Besides, even though some of the native villages had sided with the French, being gracious and sparing them would have been more effective than proving the natives correct in trying to back the French as a more reasonable alternative.

Connor nodded, leaning into his lover’s warmth, still shaking from the cold and from the memories that threaten to overwhelm him. One of his hands went up to his mother’s talisman, rubbing it a little with his thumb before simply holding it, as a physical reminder of where he was… That he had survived the hungry, vicious flames, and had not been turned to ash like so many others. His other hand went to the hand that was holding him, linking fingers. Even through the gloves that the both of them wore, the touch was helping to ground him. “Very well.” Connor kept vigilant, and hid the both of them twice more from roving bands of British soldiers, waiting with anxious, baited breath for them to leave.

~-~-~-

Haytham was profoundly glad that the tub for bathing he had was large enough – barely – to fit them both. He had dragged the tub as close to the hearth as he was reasonably certain that Connor was going to stand so that the water would keep its’ heat for as long as possible. He called out to his beloved, who was staring vacantly at the flames, still shivering in his damp clothes “Connor… Connor, I need you to get out of those clothes. You will get sick if you keep them on.”

“Mmnn?” Was Connor’s only response, seemingly transfixed by the flames, breathing shallow and fast.

A concerned frown appeared on Haytham’s face and he quickly moved to stand between Connor and the fire, so that the flames could not be seen by his beloved. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s chest, tilting the other’s head so that the other would look at him. “Connor… Connor, we are in my home, and we are safe. Are you listening to me? We are safe, we are home, and there is no one else here. No potential threats. I would like you to take your clothes off, surely they are cold from the damp and the night? The bath water is hot and ready for you to wash off the grime of the day.”

Connor shook himself from his reverie, and nodded, taking his clothes off swiftly before sinking into the bath with a sigh of relief. He looked up at Haytham, frowning a little “Will… Will you join me? There should be room enough for the both of us, and you are equally as likely to fall ill, if you keep in cold, wet clothing as well…”

“If that is what you would like me to do, I would be happy to join you.” Haytham responded, the thought of sharing a bath of Connor was enticing. Both of them had been close to death, and being close with his beloved was something he was looking forwards to. Connor nodded, actually reaching for him a little and Haytham quickly stripped down and slid into the bath, a relieved sigh escaping him as the warmth of the water started to soak into what felt like his frozen body. He could have sat opposite of Connor, but then their legs would have tangled together awkwardly, so he was more or less sitting in the other’s lap.

Connor wrapped his arms around Haytham, resting his chin on one of the other’s shoulders, humming contentedly as the hot water soaked into him. He was so intensely grateful that both of them had survived the warehouse fire. He had hesitated before pulling Haytham up… Not only because he was uncertain whether or not it was wiser to let the other – no! Connor could not have lived with himself, had he allowed Haytham to die as his mother had. When he had been young, he lacked the strength to save his mother… The thought that he could have chosen to let his father… His lover die, simply because the other was a Templar… Connor buried his face in his father’s neck, breathing in Haytham’s scent. It was different than normal, as the musty scent of the water of the bay… Mixed with the ever so faint smoky scent of the fire still clung to his father.

“Connor… Both of us are safe. We are safe, and alive and whole.” Haytham responded, as he could feel the other start to tremble violently. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to one of the other’s cheeks, gently caressing Connor’s face.

“I… I know… I … I keep seeing the flames surrounding you… While you were… the floor, dangling…” Connor stopped speaking as he buried his face in Haytham’s neck again, shaking as he struggled to contain himself. “… I love you.”

“I love you as well, Connor. It was my arrogance that they could not have something else that they had planned to attempt to kill us that had us in such dire straits.” Haytham answered back, voice warm and soft and full of love as he started to gently pet Connor’s hair, fingers sinking into his hair and lightly brushing along the other’s scalp in an attempt to help Connor calm down.

~-~-~-~-

Eventually, Connor did stop shaking, and pressed several kisses up Haytham’s neck and along his jawline until Connor reached the other’s lips. He pressed a kiss to the other’s lips, drawing the other’s lower lip into his mouth and nibbling just a little before letting go, pressing more kisses to Haytham’s face and neck. “Thank you.”

Haytham hummed softly, a pleased smile appearing on his face as his hands languidly slid down Connor’s chest. They should get out of the bath before the water became cold, but he had no desire to get out of the bath as of yet. “You are welcome, and I understand about one’s inner demons and fears running roughshod over one’s common sense and control.”

Part of Connor wanted to know to what his beloved was referring to… On the other hand, both of them were calm and at peace, and Connor had no desire to disrupt that peace by reminding Haytham of unpleasant memories, simply to satisfy his curiosity. So he kissed Haytham again, enjoying the feeling of closeness, murmuring another “Thank you.” Shortly after that, the two of them left the tepid bath water, dried off and fell asleep, tangled in a companionable tangle of limbs, neither wishing to keep up the pretense that they did not enjoy holding the other close.


	2. TOKW AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratonhnhake:ton finds a certain British-Born Grandmaster in the private cells of King Washington after defeating the mad king.

Ratonhnhake:ton had been grateful for the spirit who had come to him, not long before he had drunk the red willow tea. The spirit had known how to use the strange wrist-blades that had belonged to his father before him, knew the names and faces of the invaders who were helpful in dealing with the tyrannical king Washington, how to climb the buildings that the colonists built. The spirit had occasionally spoken through him, but Ratonhnhake:ton had not minded. This other spirit seemed to be himself, but from an alternate world. He had argued and fought against King Washington, taking the wretched Object- Apple of Eden – as the spirit had whispered it was from Washington and defeating the older man. The spirit had been against killing the despot, despite all he had done.

Then again, Washington was on trial, and perhaps it would give closure to the survivors he had tormented. As Ratonhnhake:ton had been the one to defeat him, Adams had asked him to search through the personal jail cells of Washington, to see who had been captured and tormented… In the hopes that some of those who had gone missing or had been captured but their bodies had not been hung high from the palace walls as a grisly reminder to not struggle against the deposed King’s rule, were still alive.

There were a dozen cells, each of them kept in near complete darkness, except for the flickering torches on the opposite wall, deliberately positioned so that a sliver of light from each torch illuminated a small section of the cell directly in front of each of the doors. All but the one on the far end were empty. Some were stained black with blood, others had the burn of gunpowder on the walls. Six of the cells had a tear-drop symbol drawn in blood, the remaining five had small red crosses hung on silver chains.

“Assassins and Templars. He kept them both here. I wondered why I saw none while we were fighting.”  His alternate self whispered to Ratonhnhake:ton in his mind, mournful and angry. “I wonder…Ista said that he was dead…Perhaps she had only seen him get captured, or heard of his death?”

Ratonhnhake:ton was about to enter the final cell, when an English-accented voice that he did not recognize (but that his alternate self did) called out “I know you are out there, whoever the bloody hell you are. If you are one of the bastard’s lot, he killed the others, in a fit of rage. They would not tell him more about the magical objects he possesses, nor how or where to find more of them. I wonder if the army at his gates have broken in yet. The mad bastard will fall. It is in the nature of these objects. The more you use them, the more corrupt you become and the weaker you truly become.”

The spirit spoke through him, voice tight and shaking and hopeful “Father! Washington is captured, the Apple has been taken from him and I have hidden it so that no others may use it. I am glad that you are alive… Mother thought that you were dead. I have the keys to get you free.” The spirit moved Ratonhnhake:ton’s body, fumbling slightly with the keys as it unlocked the door, rushing in and carefully undoing the chains that held their rake:ni in place.

The spirit was correct in identifying Haytham Kenway. Ista had described rake:ni to him when he was younger. She had loved him very much, and rake:ni had come to live with her in the village. When he had been very small, rake:ni had been part of his life as well, and aided the village however he could. When Washington first rose to power, the Apple in hand, his father had known what it was, and the danger it posed. He had promised that should he survive trying to separate Washington from the Apple, that it was the last of the war he would participate in. What war Haytham had been referring to, Ratonhnhake:ton could not guess. His father had left his hidden blades for Ratonhnhake:ton to use, as a promise to his mother that he would come back to her.

“… Connor? I… It is good to know that Washington has been deposed… But not killed? Are you sure that is wise? He may not have the Pieces of Eden, but that does not mean that some of the people who were truly loyal to the mad king will not try to free him, and try to re-take the country… At least to try and avoid being punished for their crimes.” Haytham responded, calling Ratonhnhake:ton a name he did not recognize.

The spirit – Connor? – answered again, taking the bandages and medicine that Ratonhnhake:ton carried and tending to their rake:ni’s injuries. Not that he would not have done so, had the spirit allowed him control of his own body “I had managed to knock him out at the end of the battle, and took the pieces of eden he had acquired. I had to move quickly to do so, as the resistance was not far behind me, battling his soldiers. I had them hid in a part of his castle they had not gotten to yet. They wanted to try him for his crimes, to show the populace that they would be different, that they would be better than King Washington had been. That he and his allies would stand trial for what they had done, rather than simply executed in the main square as Washington had done. I agreed with them and they let me continue to do as I wanted. A week later, they told me that they had found the entrance to Washington’s private cells and wished for me to look through them.”

“I am uncertain as to how I… Or rather, the Haytham Kenway of this world ended up in this cell. I… Woke up here about four years ago, in this cell, for lack of a better term. There were others in the adjoining cells then. Charles, William, John of the Templars he had captured… As for the Assassins, several of the Colonial Assassins who died in our world before you were more than ten years old were captured… How did you come to this world, Connor?” Haytham asked, or rather the father-spirit of the spirit inside of Ratonhnhake:ton asked.

“Four years ago. Washington of our world came into contact with an Apple of Eden, and I told him that it was a dangerous object and that I would make sure that it was properly hidden. He handed it over to me and I found myself going through the sky bridge, guided by the spirit woman to this world, into this body. The mind and soul of the person who belongs to this world is here with me. I usually let him control his own body, as it is by all rights his.” Connor responded, carefully kneeling so that he could haul their father up to his feet, slinging one of Haytham’s arms around his shoulders and seeing if the other could move around a little with assistance.

“As is the original occupant of this body. He was starting to break, when I… I appeared. I was able to take what Washington did to us better as I had not been tortured, while that Haytham slept. Once he was better healed mentally and spiritually from what was happening, we would trade places. Washington was furious as the Apple told him that he… I? Had been close to breaking, before something changed. No, I will not tell you what Washington did, beyond the fact that he tortured us. It would only upset you, and the populace needs the catharsis of Washington tried and his fate decided properly and publicly.” Haytham answered, leaning heavily on his son as the two of them carefully made their way out of the hidden dungeon and through the palace.

“There are several doctors tending to the wounded, and the resistance leaders wanted to know the identities of anyone I found alive in Washington’s personal cells. Which would you prefer to deal with first?” Connor asked quietly, as Ratonhnhake:ton shifted. Ratonhnhake:ton wanted to take his rake:ni and leave. The healers of his people would be able to tend to rake:ni just as well as the colonial doctors, and it was none of their business who they had found. They set down their father down on a chair as they tried to decide what they wanted to do.

“Hmmm… I would say doctors first, than the resistance leader… But the original occupant of this body would very much like to leave this cursed place as swiftly as possible, find as much gunpowder he can carry and blow this place to kingdom come before never returning. How is… How is Ziio?” Haytham answered honestly.

“Ista… Is dead. She and the rest of my village were completely slaughtered by Washington’s men one day. It was not as though he knew for certain we were fighting against him, simply that he wanted the village leveled.” Connor managed out sorrowfully, his voice quaking in desolate rage. “It happened… It happened a couple of years ago. The original occupant of this body would also like to take you from here and leave. He is protective of the only remaining family he has left and is very mistrustful of the colonists. Not that I blame him one bit. Do you have any clue what happened to the Templars and the Assassins in this world?”

“Most of them were killed, trying to get the Apple from Washington, as they knew what it was. The others were either captured, or started putting together the resistance. And a few fled to Europe, in the hopes that Washington would stay in the Americas.” Haytham answered, eye half-closing in concentration. He could feel a pulling sensation in the back of his mind, trying to take him somewhere. “Ah…I think our time here is over… Or at least…Mine is. I love you, Connor.”

“And I love you, father.” Connor responded back, kneeling down and embracing Haytham as tightly as he dared.”I can feel a tugging feeling in my mind. We are not long for this world, but I am glad to see you once again.”

Haytham nodded, hugging Connor back as tightly as his weakened limbs would allow him. After Connor had cut off all ties, his son had vanished completely. Wherever Connor was, Haytham hoped that he was relatively safe.

-~-~-~-

Connor opened his eyes, to find himself staring at the Apple of Eden in his hands.  With a decisive nod, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with this powerful, cursed object. He carefully tucked it into a pocket and went in search of Faulkner, intending to sail the Aquila to the deepest part of the sea he could easily reach and drop the Apple in so that it could never be used by anyone ever again.

As the Piece of Eden hit the ocean, Connor decided that he would go to New York and visit his father’s grave.


	3. Wings!AU part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an AU in which those who have eagle sense have eagle wings as well.

“What is it that you wished to speak with me about that you did not wish to talk of in front of my crew? I have used this ship in the past for missions with the Brotherhood.” Connor asked after he closed the door to his cabin, turning to face his father. They had been sailing for a week, on the hunt for Church’s ship, to find the traitor and to get back the supplies that he had stolen from the Patriots. His father was currently sleeping in the captain’s cabin, partially because Connor did not have any quarters set aside for passengers… And partially because his father had managed to irritate every single member of his crew within the first three days of the journey, critiquing everything they did and the manner in which they did it, from how the sails were raised to how the food and water was stored and rope was kept when not in use.

“Do you know how to fly, Connor?” Haytham asked, watching him carefully for a response. “You should be about twenty-two years old, and at that age the last of my adult feathers had finally grown in. I taught myself how to fly but it was a difficult and dangerous task. If you like, I can offer you some tips on how to fly without accidentally crashing into anything – as well as how to hide from anyone watching the skies.”

Connor fidgeted some, uncertain as to how to answer the Templar’s question. On one hand, the prospect of getting lessons on how to fly from someone who actually knew what they were doing was tempting… On the other hand, Connor was wary of what Haytham might ask of him in return for the information. This truce, while he hoped might last longer than Church’s capture and possible death, was a very fragile and tenuous agreement. “I… Have yet to fly more than a few feet at one time. I have been strengthening the muscles needed to fly.” Connor had yet to find a place where he could practice for more than an hour or two without being spotted, and he had never gone more than about ten feet off of the ground at any point in his attempts.

“Provided we do not go back to trying to kill one another after we hunt down and bring Church to justice, I will be happy to teach you how to fly, if you will accept the training from me.” His father offered.

Connor was uncertain as to whether or not he was imagining it, but Connor could swear that Haytham’s voice had softened a little, and there was a subtle look of hope in the other’s eyes. “If all goes well… I would be grateful for whatever flight training you give me.” Achilles had been able to teach Connor how to hide his wings, but beyond that, the old man was unable to help him further in that aspect of his training, beyond warning him to not go leaping  off of the cliff overhanging the bay, unless he was confident enough in his ability to fly to not go sinking into the sea like a large rock.

Haytham nodded and the two of them left the Captain’s cabin of the Aquila. Connor took the wheel from Faulkner, who scowled at Haytham as his father tried to order a couple of members of his crew to do things that did not make much sense, given what was going on… Again.

~-~-~-~-

Connor found himself wandering the streets of New York, trying to find his father. The mission to find Church had gone as well as to be expected. They had managed to save almost all of the supplies that the treacherous Templar had stolen, and Church had died. While Connor wished that his father had not beaten the man to death – if Church had to die then, it would have been safer and simpler for his father to have shot Church, or even killed the traitor with the hidden blade that Haytham had to have taken from an Assassin.

Connor was determined to have Haytham at least answer definitively as to whether or not the other would teach him how to fly. Whether or not the offer was made on a whim or not, Connor wanted to know if Haytham would break that promise, or if the other would hold to it. Flying was a potentially invaluably useful skill, and that was the only reason why Connor was seeking Haytham with such determination. His father had proved to be insufferable, irritating and seemed to enjoy loudly questioning every decision that Connor ever made, and it was not as though Connor enjoyed his father’s presence… Or attention, such as it was… One bit. It was simply that Connor wanted to see if the Templar would do as promised, or break it and prove that other promises would be just as easily broken, once Connor’s usefulness for the other waned.

… Not that such thoughts hurt (or sounded strangely like Achilles’ voice speaking them to him in his head) at all. That would be ridiculous as their line of work was a bloody and oftentimes ruthless one. Still, Connor could not stop the small ray of hope that threatened to distract him from his task. During the quieter moments on the mission – particularly as they sailed back from retrieving the stolen supplies and killing Church, they had gotten along a bit. Or at least spoke civilly with one another, or enjoyed a companionable silence as each read his own book.

A familiar voice called out to him, bringing Connor out of his spiraling thoughts “Connor! I have been looking for you.”

For the briefest moment, Connor thought that the person addressing him was Samuel Adams – but no, he had joined the main Patriot force in Valley Forge after being chased by a number of red coats. He spotted his father and moved towards the other “I have been looking for you as well, rake:ni.”

“I had begun to wonder if you had decided against taking the lessons I offered.” Haytham responded as they walked together towards a place unknown to Connor. “I have a house towards one of the edges of town that I thought would be appropriate for the lessons. Unless you have a preferred area?”

“If you are certain that this house of yours has everything required, I have no objections.” Connor answered back. Perhaps his father had private lands around his house that were sufficient enough for the flying lessons that the other had in mind. Connor was content to take Haytham at his word, but hoped that the other did not intend to try to have him flying inside of the house, as there was little chance that would work well at all. Connor had spoken with Achilles, telling the old man of the success of the joint mission… But not that he was going to Haytham for any sort of training as Connor had no wish to go through another hours-long lecture about the utter untrustworthiness of Templars.

They walked in companionable silence as the two of them made their way through the streets of New York. Connor’s thoughts began to wander a bit as he followed his father to the other’s home. The simple fact of the matter was that Haytham had offered the lessons without  prompting. This could be an attempt at converting him to the Templar cause. However his father had already attempted to do so on the mission to hunt Church down. Haytham had told him that he was naïve to believe that the Assassin's’ Creed was more than an idiot’s dream. That if everyone was completely free, then there would be those who would take pleasure in oppressing and harming others as they pleased because they would be free to do so.

Connor had been unimpressed by Haytham’s arguments on the mission, and if Haytham repeated those arguments again, he would be no less moved by the Templar’ s arguments now or in the near future as he was then. Connor would make certain to be on his guard, however. Truce notwithstanding, Connor was well aware of how ruthless the Templar could be.

 


	4. Wings!AU part two

His father’s home turned out to be a moderately sized mansion in one of the wealthiest areas of New York. Unlike several of the overwrought and ridiculous looking mansions in the surrounding areas, there was an understated elegance to the place that Connor found quite striking. The front gardens that his father had were much the same, and as the pair of them walked down the path to the front door, among the flowering plants – many of which were not only aesthetically pleasing  and had either medicinal or poisonous qualities to them – were plants that bore edible fruits, vegetables or berries.

Haytham unlocked the front door when they reached it, gesturing for Connor to enter. The inside of the mansion – or at least the foyer – was carrying on the subtly wealthy motif.  Connor spotted several closed doors, as well as a staircase at the end of the large, open room.

Someone came into the foyer from an adjoining room, dressed as a servant “Master Kenway! It is good to see –“ She topped in her tracks, voice faltering a little as she looked Connor over in a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

Haytham stepped into the room after Connor, spotting one of his servants before he could ask why Connor had stopped moving. “Mary, it is good to see you. This is my son Connor. He will be staying here for some time.” With that he walked passed her, subtly motioning for Connor to join him. Haytham had a handful of servants to ensure that his home was well-maintained as he traveled frequently.

Once they were alone, Connor barely refrained from crossing his arms “… You said that where we would be going, it would be safe to practice flying, yet there are others here.” He could not keep an accusing note from entering his voice as he waited for Haytham to explain himself.

“I travel frequently, and pay others to keep this place in good repair when I am away. I have extensive grounds that extend from the back of this house, which are more than enough to shield us from the eyes of the servants and the mansions and grounds are spaced in this area far enough apart that we will not be seen by anyone, unless we leave the tree-line close to the edges of my property, and I know where to go and how to avoid the potential sight of the others who live around here.” Haytham answered patiently, understanding Connor’s wariness. He headed deeper into the territory. He had largely left it alone from the wild state he had purchased the land in. He had created a couple of clearings to practice flying in, as well as made certain that there were paths he could through travel while on the wing to each of the clearings.

“… Very well.” Connor responded after a time, deciding that it was too soon to potentially fight the other on this matter… And it was not as though Connor had a better location to practice flying. With them practicing on private property that Haytham owned, it was less likely for someone to be on the property for one reason or another than if they were practicing in a clearing in the frontier… And Connor was not going to willingly bring Haytham to Homestead, not unless the other willingly and fully turned from the Templar cause to serve the Brotherhood, and only after the other had proven his loyalty. The chances of that were vanishingly low. He followed his father deeper into the forested area.

As they moved to the first clearing, Haytham asked “What have you been able to figure out on your own? You did mention before that you have been strengthening your wing muscles, how long have you been able to keep yourself in the air at one time? How much can you fly reliably without being inordinately exhausted and sore the next morning? How often have you been flying since you were able to begin flying?”

Connor searched his mind for the answers to the other’s questions, trying to put into words what he had been able to do. “I… I have had all of my adult feathers for less than six months. I can manage to fly from one end of a clearing that is about a quarter-mile long to the other three times without becoming incapacitated the next day.”

Haytham noted that Connor was hesitating as he spoke, and guessed that part of the reason why Connor was taking time in answering his questions, was because the other was suspicious of him. He was content to wait for the other to answer his questions at his own pace, and would not attempt to push Connor for information on this topic. Besides, if the other did not tell him, Haytham would find out while he trained the other what Connor’s limits were. Haytham chose not to speak, so that he did not interrupt the other’s line of thought, or discourage the other from answering his questions.

Connor paused for a couple of moments, uncertain as to how much he should reveal to Haytham. On one hand, the other was the Templar Grandmaster… On the other, it was highly unlikely that he would find someone else who had the capability to fly and was willing to share their knowledge, or at least part of it. “I can hover in one place for half a day before my wings give out on me. I have never flown above the tree-line in the Frontier, as I… I do not know how high I can fly without something unfortunate happening, and I wanted to make sure that I could grab onto something and slow or at least stop my fall if my wings did suddenly give out on me.”

“An understandable approach to learning how to fly, especially since you have just begun. It is rather impressive that you can fly for so long so quickly.” Haytham responded, genuinely meaning the praise. It had taken him years to get that accomplished at flying… Then again, he had grown up hiding his wings as a child in the dense city of London, and it had only been when he had been traveling as an adult, did Haytham have the space and relative security of being alone did he start to be able to move his wings to strengthen them as well as to attempt to fly. Haytham had spoken with Shay once the younger winged man had proven himself to be loyal to the Templar cause. Given that Shay had grown up in the colonies and aboard ships, it had taken Shay until adulthood to begin feeling comfortable enough to start using his wings, or trying to.

The relative isolation, along with the close-knit community of Connor’s tribe had quite likely proven to be an asset for Connor, while he had been growing up. In such small communities, hiding such a secret would be utterly impossible, particularly for a child who may not always know what or when to hide secrets. Perhaps that was part of the reason why Connor had been able to fly so much so quickly. Then again, what might be standard for those with wings was any one of the three of theirs’ guesses. They arrived at the edge of the first clearing and Haytham asked “Do you want to begin now?”

“Yes I would.” Connor answered, a determined expression appearing on his face. He was curious as to what Haytham wanted to teach him and was firm in his desire to learn everything he could about flying from him.

~-~-~-~-

Weeks passed, one day blending into the next turning into a couple of months and Connor was uncertain as to just where the time had went so swiftly. While Connor had initially intended to stay at an inn elsewhere in New York, as that was where they were staying while Haytham taught him the tricks and tips the older man had learned about how to fly… Haytham had insisted that Connor stay with him for the duration of the training. The first week and a half, Connor had been so exhausted at the end of the day’s training, he barely managed to get anything to eat before staggering off to the guest bedroom that had been made up for him to sleep. As his stamina improved however, Connor had asked if Haytham would prefer him staying elsewhere in the city to sleep.

His father’s answer had been “If that is what you wish, I will not stop you, Connor. I have plenty of room here, and I am finding myself enjoying your company. I… I had hoped that was mutual, but if I assumed incorrectly…”

Connor had shook his head – when they did not argue about politics of philosophy, he found that he quite enjoyed Haytham’s company. The older man was clever, insightful and had an entertaining sense of humor. “I enjoy your company as well, rake:ni. I was uncertain as to whether or not you wished me to stay when we were not training, now that I am strong enough not to immediately fall asleep after finishing training for the day.” Connor could not be entirely certain – as he could not quite remember and did not want to be teased if his suspicions were correct… However, the first couple of days, he was quite certain that his father had half-carried him back to the mansion. Connor had known that he had been that exhausted, as to have needed assistance back.

Haytham… Haytham had genuinely smiled at that, causing a strange warmth to spread from Connor’s heart, seeming to fill up his entire chest as what felt like butterflies took up residence in his stomach. “I am glad to hear that, Connor. As… As long as we are not actively fighting one another, should you wish it, you will always have a place in my home.”

For a few moments, all the air in the world seemed to have vanished, and Connor struggled to find a response to that, his throat tight. The sunlight – dim as it had been through the clouds – must have been brighter than he thought they had been, as his eyes were stinging painfully. “I… Thank you. That… That means much to me, father.” Connor had swiftly left his father’s presence after that, inquiring with the chef if there was anything he needed for the dinner tonight. He helped with kneading the bread that was going to be baked. The physical work with his hands kept Connor’s tumultuously spinning thoughts at bay.

That had been a little over a week ago, Connor mused. Since then a strange sort of a tension seemed to rise, every time the two of them were alone, and Connor could not quite place why. He admitted to himself that in that moment, he had realized that he cared for Haytham quite a bit. More than Achilles would deem as safe and… Differently than he should, given that they were father and son. A persistent thought was that Connor wondered occasionally what it would be like to kiss Haytham. The other’s lips looked quite soft, and that silver tongue of Haytham’s…

Connor shook himself mentally. This would be the last lesson for some time as both of them had numerous duties to attend to, and the flying lessons would have to come to an end, at least for a while. Haytham had gotten several letters that had caused the Templar to pace and mutter under his breath in his study, a brooding frown on his face. Connor had gotten a couple of letters from his recruits. Lee was trying to maneuver himself into a position of greater authority within the Patriot leadership and was attempting to discredit Washington at the same time. They would need to act quickly to end Lee’s current attempt, and Connor – as the Assassin with the most contact with the Patriots – needed to be the one to do so directly.

The two of them were walking back from another flight training session as Connor’s thoughts churned when Haytham stopped moving. They were still in the forested area of the back section of Haytham’s property. They had flown all day together, stopping just long enough to eat the trail rations that Connor had thought to bring, in case they had wanted to be out long enough to miss a meal and dusk had set some time ago. Moonlight shone down through the trees. “Connor?” Haytham called, voice soft and warm, beckoning him to come closer.

Connor did as Haytham had silently asked him to, stepping into the other’s personal space. The moonlight eliminated his father’s eyes, which seemed to glow a radiant blue. “Yes?” Connor asked, finding himself oddly breathless, leaning towards the slightly shorter man, the desire to be as close as he could get to Haytham irresistible.

Haytham tugged Connor closer, pressing a kiss firmly to his lips, eyes closing as a hum of happiness escaped him before Haytham could stop it. After a blissful eternity, they stopped kissing, so that they could catch their breaths. “I love you, Connor. Differently than I should, but I do.”

Connor’s eyes widened in surprise and happiness as he started to answer, making certain that he was speaking English “And I love you, differently than is proper as well.“ Connor pressed a kiss to Haytham’s lips, enjoying the feeling. They were softer than Connor had imagined them being. Reality was so much better.

After they broke from their second kiss, Haytham chuckled a little, unable to stop a silly grin from appearing on his face. “That makes me happier than I had thought I was still able being. I know that you likely must leave soon, and I understand… As much as I want you to stay the both of us have tarried here for far longer than we should have. If all goes well, meet me here four months from now?”

Connor nodded, his arms wrapping around Haytham, even as he answered “I do have many things I need to do, and I probably should have left two weeks ago to tend to them. If we do not meet again before four months’ time, I will do my best to be here then. Travel safely.”

“Until we meet again, and may that day come quickly.” Haytham answered, hugging his beloved back. They let go of one another, heading back for the mansion once the chill of the night began to make itself known to the two of them.


	5. Pirate!Haytham AU part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham, captain of the Jackdaw, heard that The Aquila sank years ago. So why is the Ghost of the North Sea active again?

Haytham had heard that the Aquila had almost sunk almost ten years ago. It was a pity, as he had enjoyed fighting with and sparring against the crew – the first mate Faulkner in particular was incredibly fun, as unlike the captain, he didn’t have a stick up his arse when dealing with pirates such as himself. He had followed in his father’s footsteps – and he made sure not to target innocents as the promise he had made his father when he had been ten… A few days before the other’s death was one of the few things that he clung to.

Several of his father’s old crew had been in London, searching for their captain, to see how the old sea dog had been doing with his feet so firmly set on land… They found Haytham shaking, covered in blood and shaking as he desperately gripped a sword too long and heavy for him to properly wield as he fended off those who had killed his father. The former crewmembers attacked without mercy, saving his sister from their grubby paws.

When his mother had rejected him for killing to defend them, the rest of Edward’s crew took him on board the Jackdaw. They sent his sister to a friend of his father’s – a man by the name of Adewale. He knew well of the war that his sister was embroiled in because of that – after all the arsehole with pointed ears was his sister’s former intended – one Reginald Birch (who had been killed by Jameson as the bastard had intended to sell her into slavery) was a Templar Grandmaster. Not that his father had known, and had viewed the conniving snake as a friend, unknowing of the other’s treacherous nature.

He aided the Assassins so long as the money was good and they didn’t try to talk him into joining their high-handed order. After all, it was not the Brotherhood who had come to his and his family’s rescue. It had been his father’s pirate crew. As of late, there were no Assassin-aligned ships, and there were far more Templar ships… But he had made sure not to directly oppose the Templars too much, and found that so long as you did not go after their ships too often, the Templars in the colonies at least, did not go after him.

Haytham was curious as to who had found the shattered wreck of the Aquila (and the no doubt completely sloshed first mate) and decided to fix her up. Given the fact that the Aquila had a fearsome if fair reputation, it did make sense for an enterprising captain – particularly if She was the captain’s first vessel – to make use of Her reputation. Haytham made inquiries in the smaller northern port towns, as if Faulkner was still the First Mate, he would have this new captain stick close to that area, while testing the other to see if they were worthy of his beloved ship.

~-~-~-

It was a cold and windy morning three weeks later when Haytham finally tracked down The Aquila. The smaller ship was fighting against several British vessels – and doing fairly well, despite having the wind against them and each of the ships twice the size of the mercenary vessel. With a crooked grin Haytham ordered his crew to ready themselves as they sailed towards the vessels. He shot at the closest of the lobster-back ships with his front-mounted cannons.

By the time that the British ship was able to start firing on the Jackdaw with any sort of accuracy, black smoke billowed from the deck. The sails of the soon to be sunk ship were burning to nothing but ash as the unfortunate vessel shuddered to an almost complete halt, except for the slight movement that the swell of the rolling ocean provided them.

Haytham would be delighted to split whatever goods were on the ships evenly with the mercenary vessel – as this new captain had stopped the second vessels in Its’ tracks at the same time that Haytham’s crew stilled the first. Between the two of them, the third British ship – which had begun to try and flee, not even attempting to fire back in a very tragic stab at getting free – was unable to move as well.

As his Jackdaw drew abreast of the closest of the trio of British ships, Haytham used his aft puckle gun to pick off enough of the crew to prove the point that if they did not surrender unconditionally, they would all die. He was briefly tempted to kill a couple more of them, just to drive the point in that trying to resist him would end in only death, but Haytham resisted the temptation. These yellow-bellied cowards shivered violently as he swaggered onto the vessel as their eyes widened in fearful recognition. He would make sure to watch them carefully - if any of these cowards wished to join his crew. The rest would be set off in long boats towards shore. Stripped of weapons and anything useful, including coin of course. He was feeling generous, which was why those who would not join his crew would not drown with the ship, as he had left those who would not join him to die on the open sea.

The British captain - a bearded fellow with narrow, terrified eyes and trembling hands that whilst bound, still betrayed the other’s utter distress. A sharp smirk curled on Haytham’s face as he spotted a silver cross that marked the other as a Templar… “Well, well. I wonder what an English Templar like you is doing so far from home, hmm? If you are lucky, I’ll gut you now, and be done with it. But The Aquila is an Assassin ship - she always has been, and likely always will be. I am certain that they will be delighted to get their hands on you.”

“Why did you attack us in the first place? You are no Assassin – you are far too pragmatic for their blindly idealistic drivel, Kenway. Although you do fit their chaotic destructiveness to the letter. It is a pity you will not join us, that mind of yours could be put to so much good… And yet all you do is cause discord and pain to everyone who you think opposes you… Why?” The captain spat angrily, trying to focus on his irritation, rather than the fact that the captain of the Eagle of the Caribbean was on his ship, sword in hand.

“I go after slave ships, as slavery is an ugly practice and I will not allow it to flourish in any way that I can. So yes, I do cause much pain to those who trade in other living beings, and try to make sure that those who were kidnapped from their homelands are safely returned to where they are happiest – and if some find that they like sailing on the sea, either with me or turning what was once their prison into the vessel of their freedom, I will not stop them. I also go after merchant ships who transport goods that are made cheaper through the use of slave labor, or who use slaves in an attempt to cut down on costs, or some other such nonsense.” Haytham sneered back, looking down in disgust at this pathetic creature before him.

“If you want to stop slavery, why then do you stay on the seas, rather than coming ashore and attempting to influence those in power? Attacking Slave ships and saving those who have yet to be sold is a start, but do you really think that being so bloody about it will be useful at all in the long run? You have a sharp mind, Kenway. The Order I serve would welcome you.” Biddle answered, raising an eyebrow a little in surprise. They had thought that Kenway went after Slave ships because they were usually guarded by several smaller but better armed ships that he could destroy and then raid for supplies and a few crewmen, before taking the slaves and then selling them himself. But this apparent streak of nobility was something that the Templar Order could use… If he was able to live past this encounter and get free of the young, upstart Assassin mentor, whose ship was fast upon them. “Come now, do you really think that throwing your lot in with the Assassins would do you any good? We’ve all but destroyed them here in the colonies, and though a few have come again – like ivy they are – they will be crushed soon enough as they are low in numbers and scant on resources.”

Haytham snorted a little at that “I care not for the Assassins’ Brotherhood, but they at least, will leave me alone, so long as I do not go after them or theirs. You Templars on the other hand… You seem to think that because you think yourselves more knowledgeable in the ways of the world that you should impose your will and view on the world on the rest of us. You lot have been getting more and more pushy as of late – and without Cormac and his fleet here in the colonies – I am not surprised he left your high and mighty  bunch of idiots – there is not a one of you who can  stop me.” A vicious little smirk appeared on his face as his blue eyes glittered… No… They shone with an otherworldly gold. The same color as Cormac’s had… and a handful of infamous Assassins before them – Haytham Kenway’s father being one of that number.

Before Biddle could respond to that, The Aquila boarded the other side of the British – or was it a Patriot ship? She had been flying British colors, and surrounded by British ships as far as Haytham could tell. Not that he particularly cared what was going on, on the land so long as the landlubbers did not try to impose their rules where they were neither wanted nor particularly well-followed. A tall (and handsome) young man in a striking blue uniform moved towards the two of them. From the feathers and braids in the other’s hair and the beading on the armbands that the other captain wore (and from how the other spoke to the crew of the Aquila who swung over with him, he was in a position of power and Faulkner for some reason would never be more than the first mate to the fast ship) he was Mohawk… Or rather half, given his more-fair features.

“Are you the current captain of the Jackdaw?” the Aquila’s captain asked, voice surprisingly soft and melodious as he approached Haytham cautiously.

“Yes, I am. And you are-?” The infamous pirate captain asked politely, a small smile appearing on his face. He still kept one of his pistols trained on Biddle, not trusting the mouthy Templar not to try anything, despite the fact that the ship he was on was only barely just staying afloat.

“You may call me Connor. I am the captain of The Aquila.” Connor answered truthfully, looking over the pirate more closely, seeming to be a bit surprised by something.

Haytham was briefly reminded of someone who had had known for a few months, years and years ago. A fierce and proud Mohawk woman, whose full name he had never quite been able to properly pronounce - not that he had not tried to practice in private, whispering the individual syllables to himself, trying to get his stubborn tongue to cooperate. She had caught him at it once, and demanded to know what he had been doing. Sheepishly he told her that he had been trying to practice saying her full name, as it seemed rude not to at least try, as it was beautiful and fitting for one as lovely as she was. Ziio had laughed a little and smiled up at him at that before kissing him full on the lips. He had never been more delightedly surprised in his life.

The couple of months she had deigned to stay on his ship were some of the happiest he had ever had. When he had found a port city close to where she said her people lived, she had left, and taken a piece of his heart with her. He had wanted to go with her but Ziio had shook her head and pointed out that his first love was the sea, and taking him from his home was not something she had wanted to do. He had tried to stay in contact with her, but did not want to draw potential Colonial – or Templar or Assassin for that matter as the latter two were irritatingly persistent on trying to recruit him – to Ziio or her village. There was something of her face in Connor’s – as well as the freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. “A pleasure to meet you, Connor. You are an Assassin, yes? Have you been trying to catch this particular Templar, or is it a happy accident?” It never failed to entertain him how those directly involved in the ancient and seemingly undying war reacted to the fact that a lowly pirate captain knew of who and what they were as well as what they professed to want.

To his credit, Connor’s eyes only widened briefly, and focused on the bracers on his wrist – Haytham’s father’s actually. Another gift that his father’s crew had found and given to him. Connor refocused, clearing his throat and said “I have been hunting him for the past few months. I would prefer that you not kill him, at least until I have interrogated him.”

“He’s all yours, lad. One of the reasons I was keeping him alive was that I figured that you might want to have a chat with him. Oh, and I am no Assassin, but I dislike the way that the Templars try to meddle in everyone’s affairs.” Haytham answered easily, stepping away from Biddle and subtly gesturing for Connor to do as he wished with Biddle.

“Thank you for keeping him alive.” Connor responded with a small nod, moving gracefully towards the hapless Templar, mentally choosing his words with care as he deliberately loomed over the captive. “Answer me truthfully and I will let you live. Where is Charles Lee?”

“Why should I tell you anything? And it’s likely that you will just leave me in his hands, and I doubt that that pirate asshole will leave me alive. He’s a vindictive bastard and I’ve gone after his ship once or twice before and he holds grudges like no one I’ve ever met.” Biddle bit out, using angry bravado to cover his mounting fear. The young Assassin leader was surprisingly gentle with his Templar captives but… Kenway was a vicious bastard with a grudge against the Templar Order that no one could fathom. Not that the wily bastard was fond of the Brotherhood, which was a small saving grace.

Connor glanced at Haytham – the striking pirate captain smirking lazily at the Templar and his remaining crew, flipping a dagger in one hand in a casual display of skill that was quite impressive, given the fact that he threw the blade so that it twirled hilt over blade several times, catching the hilt of the knife as it spun end over end, the double-edged blade razor sharp. “Would you kill him if I let him go?”

Haytham shrugged “That entirely depended on whether or not he would try to go after me and mine again. If you would like to keep an enemy alive to try and stab you in the back, it’s a foolish thing to do, but perhaps he might prove more useful if you want to try and follow this particular rat back to his nest, to find and catch more of them.” He usually killed persistent annoyances like Biddle, but if they did stop, he was not particularly set on killing them. Death dealing was a skill that he was very good at, but not one he enjoyed using.

The young Assassin blinked at him a couple of times, watching Haytham with an expression that the pirate captain was unable to decipher. “I try not to kill unless it is necessary, but he has been particularly persistent as well as dishonest in his dealings with the Patriots in a way that is aggravating.”

“Is there a reason why you support the Patriots, Captain Connor? Or is it more that you are against the British, and that by aiding the Patriots, you are hoping that you will be able to influence them if they manage to break away from the British Empire? To my knowledge, breaking from an empire has been tried several times, but it has not been successful. Between the differences in resources and manpower, the occasional time that a colony had managed to break away from an empire for a time… The people ended up in such dire financial straits that when one of the empires – either the one they had fought or another Empire declared war on them on one pretext or another… They were retaken.” Haytham mused, looking speculatively at Connor, a thought occurring to him that he wished did not distract him as it did. He knew the odds of this Assassin being his son were fairly low… But still, he wanted to find out. “The major European Empires are clashing with one another in a number of lands, and the English Colonies of America is far from Britain, which slows the British supply lines, even if they had a certain way to get the food, men and arms from there to here without having to roll the dice on whether or not the seas and gods will be kind enough to allow the ships to cross the Atlantic in one piece it would be difficult to keep the men in fully fighting readiness over the weeks it takes to get here from there on the limited space on the ships.”

Connor studied Haytham for a short time before responding “I would prefer not to speak of this while there are Templars present. I am curious as to why you are interested in knowing my answer, if you are neutral?”

“I hate Templars – they killed my father, tried to sell my older sister into slavery and drove my mother to near madness. My father had been an Assassin, but because he had been a pirate first, they did not think him important enough to warn that the Templars were going to attack us, and neither did they bother trying to help us as we tried to stop them from shattering our lives. I have no love for the British Empire, but I dislike how the Patriots are being lead.” Haytham responded honestly, with a small shrug. Still, a subtle and well buried anger still smoldered in his eyes a little as he spoke of why he tried his damndest to stay free of that stupid, blasted war. “If you want a few pointers on how to get a man to crack under interrogation, I would be delighted to show you. However it will get messy and bloody.”

“I would wish to avoid using torture if I did not have to.” Connor answered, a small frown appeared on his face as he debated internally as to what to do with Biddle, now that he had him captured with some timely if not entirely necessary assistance from a pirate captain that he had never had contact with before… But, if Connor’s guess about who captain Haytham was… the pirate might be Connor’s unaware father. He certainly matched his mother’s description of his father – and Connor could also tell why his mother could have fallen in love with him. He was fierce, intelligent and moral in his own way. He could have been a great Assassin. The native restrained from pointing out that it had been a different part of the brotherhood that had so unjustly abandoned Haytham’s family, and that things were being run differently in the English colonies. It was unlikely that the pirate captain would take well to proselytizing. Connor leaned over Biddle in a deliberately imposing manner as he continued “But I will use such force if it is necessary.”

The captive Templar swallowed nervously, eyes darting around the deck. His crew was either dead or captured and bound, and he was trapped between a ruthless but neutral pirate captain and a Master Assassin. His best bet was to try and play on the pirate’s desire for neutrality. “You attacked my ship, and I doubt that you will kill every single member of my crew – you need people to sail this ship, and as the continental congress has paid rather a lot to keep it in good repair, as well as to commission this ship in the first place, it is unlikely that the Assassin will want it sunk, as it will spite his allies of convenience. My crew is loyal to me, and some are also loyal to the Templar Order as well, and they will tell our brothers in arms about what you have done. You claim to be neutral, but have attacked a ship sailed by a Templar captain for no other reason than because she was attacking an Assassin-aligned ship. That is tantamount to claiming to be sided with the Brotherhood. But… You are the more experienced fighter, and your ship is larger and in better condition than the Assassin’s. attack them – I do not presume to ask for you to kill them, but drive them away from my ship, allow us to limp off to port with the tatters of our dignity, and I will not speak of your indiscretion.”

Haytham was entirely unimpressed by the Templar’s last ditch attempt to try and sway him. He had no love of the Templar Order… And who said he was going to let the ship continue to work? He planned on looting the ship of anything valuable, splitting the loot with the Assassin captain if the other would take the supplies, before sinking the ship. Connor looked a little concerned as the Templar spoke, shifting a little. He focused on something that the Assassin was wearing – a pendant that Ziio had worn – something that was precious to her and not something that she would part with lightly or easily. Connor did have her freckles and warm brown eyes. He barely heard the last of the Templar’s driveling speech – Templars were easy to spot with one who had eyes like his. Perhaps… Perhaps a small test was in order “You speak as though I would be unable to discern which of your crew is more hostile towards myself then the rest.”

With a knowing smirk, Haytham activated his second sight, knowing that his eyes shimmered an otherworldly golden color – it was something that his first mate had remarked on several times in the past. “I have far keener eyes than most do. You have a certain unfriendly glow about you that I can easily see.” He turned to look at Connor – who shone a soft silver-blue in his second sight.

A soft gasp of recognition escaped the Assassin at the same time as a low, angry curse left the Templar. Both of them knew what the ability meant, though the latter knew only whispers and rumors that were half-believed and half thought to be nonsense. “You… You have golden eyes…” Connor managed, moving closer to the pirate captain as he did so. “… Once I have gotten the information I need – or the information he has – out of this Templar… I would like to speak with you privately.”

Haytham found that there was a sudden tightness in his chest and a nervous anticipation filling the rest of him. It was all he could do to keep his limbs from trembling in slightly anxious excitement. The thought of having a child… A son… “Of course. My crew and I will be searching his ship for anything of value. Do you want to keep it? Add it to the Assassin fleet? Or… You could be fair I suppose and return it to the Patriots and hope that they do not pick another treacherous Templar to command her.”

“I have not yet decided on what I wish to do with the ship. If you find any Templar plans, I would be very grateful if you handed them over to me.” Connor responded. He hesitated or a few moments before looking Haytham square in the face and shifting his eyes gold for a count of five, fairly certain that the pirate captain had seen it. “We have much to speak of.”

“Yes, I rather suspect we do, Connor.” Haytham was fairly certain that the name the Assassin had given him was not the one that his mother had given him, but rather one he used when dealing with colonists and others with fairer skin, as most wouldn’t even try to pronounce his true name. If Connor was who Haytham thought he was, he was determined to at least try, if the younger man would allow him to know his true name.

* * *


	6. Pirate!Haytham AU part two

Haytham found several coded letters in a hidden compartment in the captain’s cabin, and a cipher in a small chest that was child’s play for him to pick. Using a spare bit of parchment he decoded the letters. He enjoyed the challenge of cracking such things and he was curious as to what the Templars were up to in the colonies. They were status reports on how the Patriot’s fleet was spreading and how Biddle had been able to influence the selection of captains and the crew officers, making sure that preference was given to Templars, or those sympathetic to the cause, or those who would be more easily influenced by the wealth or influence that the Templar Oder could offer those who chose to join their ranks.

There were a couple of letters from a C.L. who wrote of how the rebel army was fairing – and from what he had written and implied, this particular Templar conspirator was highly ranked within the army – quite possibly a tactical advisor or general of some kind. The Templars seemed to have chosen to side with the Patriots, for the moment at least, as the temptation of being able to control the formation and be part of the leadership of a new nation was something that they were wholly incapable of resisting. Not that Haytham was the least bit surprised. Once he finished with the letters, he quietly burned his interpretation of them – better not to arouse suspicion or curiosity as to why he would snoop – and folded the encoded letters and tucked them into an inner pocket of his outfit. The cipher he tucked into a different pocket.

Haytham stretched and left the captain’s cabin after checking one last time for any hidden treasures with both types of sight, finding a small pile of shimmering gemstones. In total they wouldn’t be worth more than a thousand pound or so, but it was more than he had before, so the stones were pocketed.

He found Faulkner directing a few of The Aquila’s crew and asked “Is your captain done interrogating Biffle yet? Or whatever that Templar’s name was. I’m not certain he ever did tell me his name…Not that I particularly care. He was an irritating blowhard.”

“I think it was Biddle. Connor first met the bastard when he was fifteen. We were recruiting officers when the lad spotted him. He marched right over to the smug arse and demanded to know where Charles Lee was, as the boy could tell he was a Templar as soon as he had seen him. He should be done soon, if he isn’t already.” Faulkner answered truthfully, a small smile of fond exasperation appearing on his face as he recalled that encounter. “My captain is very bold, and he takes good care of us, and more importantly The Aquila.”

Haytham chuckled a little “I see you are just as focused on your ship now as you ever were. I’m surprised that you aren’t captain, and Connor being the first mate.” The Assassin was a bit young for captaincy, but so had Haytham when he had taken over. It was obvious from the way that Connor’s crew moved and spoke – Faulkner particularly, as he had struggled under several cruel or idiotic captains before The Ghost of the North Sea had all but vanished about ten years ago – that they were very loyal to Connor. A loyal crew was the sign of a good captain.

“I could never be her captain! Connor treats her well, and keeps the men in line with a firm hand. He’s really grown into the role.” Faulkner answered, pride evident in his voice.

“I… I am glad to hear that, Faulkner.” Haytham responded, hoping that the hitch in his voice was well hidden. He was just starting to realize that… That Connor could very well be his son. He would not allow his hopes to rise too much, however. He had met one other – a Shay Patrick Cormac who was either an Assassin or a Templar – who also had golden eyes.

A mall smile graced the older sailor’s face at that, and he nodded towards the captain’s cabin on the Aquila “Here comes the… My captain.”

Haytham nodded a little in agreement as Connor easily dragged the battered form of Captain Biddle back aboard the ship he had been charged with an ease that showed off his strength. Connor left the Templar’s bound form near the main mast of the soon to be sinking ship and walked up to Haytham and Faulkner. “Captain Haytham, I would like to speak to you privately.”

“Of course. Where would you like to speak? I did find some coded letters in the captain’s cabin, and my crew found a few more letters among this sorry lots’ effects. I also found a cipher that seems to match the codes as it seems as though none of them were bright enough to remember the coding sequence from memory.” Haytham responded, the tension and hope charging to the forefront of his mind again. He needed to focus and keep calm.

“I would like to speak in my cabin aboard the Aquila, if you do not mind. If you would prefer to speak in the captain’s cabin on this ship, I understand as it is more neutral territory. Not that I think that we are at odds with one another… At least… I would prefer that we were not.” Connor responded in a rush, obviously rather anxious about the upcoming conversation as well. He had brought his hands up to his chest and was rubbing them as though they were sore, or the gloves that he wore were not fitting correctly.

“I am fine with speaking in your cabin, Connor. I would prefer the two of us not be enemies either. You fight well, and your ship is strong.” Haytham answered as he followed the other to the Aquila, easily making the jump from ship to ship a couple of seconds after Connor, his nerves starting to sing anxiously. Honestly, he was being ridiculous!

~-~-~-~-

As soon as the door closed completely, Connor turned to look at Haytham, asking “Did you know a Mohawk woman by the name of Kaneihti:io? She usually had white men call her Ziio.”

“Yes I did, about twenty years ago. I rescued her and a number of other native people – some were Mohawk, but not all of them – from a Slave ship. She and I grew close over the months it took to return her and the others to their homeland. Why do you ask?” Haytham asked with bated breath, half expecting one answer and uncertain what to do if that were true. “Kane… Kaneihti:io was a singular person, and someone whom I still greatly admire. I also fell in love with her. I still am. Do you know how she fares?”

“Then you are the man of whom she spoke. Kaneihti:io was my mother. She… She was murdered fifteen years ago. Killed in a fire that claimed most of… Of my village. Did… Did you know of me?” Connor answered and asked at the same time, fidgeting. It was one of the things that had always bothered him – if his father had known that mother had been with child and had decided to leave because of it.

“N… No, she never told me. I would… I would have stayed with her, if she had let me. I visited her, a couple of times when I had been in the area a couple of months after she left my ship. Unfortunately the Assassins and Templars were starting to go after one another with a bloody zeal that was actually rather frightening. She was concerned that I might bring some of them with me to the village – not that I was aligned either way back then either, but that I might be followed as apparently I have a suspicious face to some.” Haytham responded earnestly, eyes widening as a look of grief and shock flashed across his face. He closed his eyes for several moments as he struggled to keep his breathing under control and his eyes stung with tears, several treacherous drops falling from his eyes. He rubbed his face brusquely with one hand to banish the tears as he was able to more or less shove down the painful feelings. The joy of knowing he had a child – well, not that the other was childlike… It helped ease the pain of hearing of her passing suddenly, and in such a brutal fashion. “Do… Do you know of who caused the fire? I did hear of British soldiers burning down native villages towards the end of the seven years’ war, claiming to be only putting French-allied villages to the torch.”

A warmth spread through Connor at that, made warmer by the fact that he realized that his father had been able to correctly pronounce his mother’s full name – that he had cared enough to learn in the first place, and that he still cared enough two decades later to be able to correctly say her name. This happiness was tempered by the anger that was always summoned when that horrible day was mentioned to him – at times he could still smell the smoke that choked his lungs, and the terrible heat that pressed around him on all sides… No! He would not be haunted by bad memories this day. Rage and sorrow filled his voice as he explained what had happened. “A Templar named Charles Lee was searching for my village. He found me hiding in some bushes. I had been playing a game with my friends when he and three other white men found me. They dragged me from the bushes, mocking me and my people, before choking and beating me unconscious. When I woke, I smelled smoke and found my village in flames. Lee and his men wanted to find my village, and I had not told them. They were not in the uniforms of British soldiers, though at the time Lee had been serving General Braddock as a field marshal I think.”

A deep frown appeared on Haytham’s face at that, a dark anger taking him of that. Those blasted Templars claimed that they wanted safety and peace for everyone, but acts like this proved that they were power-hungry creatures who espoused such lofty ideals to fool others into following their agendas. “The Colonial Rite has asked if I would assist them on more than one occasion – so long as Biddle here dies and we keep news of his ship sinking known to the Patriots as an attack by the British, I should be able to gain a meeting with this Charles Lee – he is a Templar of importance in the English colonies – it shouldn’t take too much convincing on my part to have him walk with me. I will lead him to you and we will have him answer for his crimes… It is odd, as I heard he married a Mohawk woman.”

“I would not know about that, but I do know what he has done, and I would be grateful for your help disposing of Lee.” Connor was so close to asking his father to assist him in ridding the colonies of Templar influence completely… But he did not want to push him. Haytham had legitimate reasons to be wary of both sides of the war.

“Do you trust the leader of your order, Connor? Or do you serve the Assassin cause for revenge and to protect others from the Templars?” Haytham asked quietly. He would never join the British Assassins… But with his son…

“I am the leader of my order… More or less. My mentor is an old man, who cannot move about his house without a cane. I have recruited a half-dozen Assassins to the cause, trained them myself and I trust each of them with my life – and I have in the past.” Connor responded without missing a beat, earnestly meaning what he said.

A small smile appeared on Haytham’s face as he made a (slightly) impulsive decision. “Well… With you leading them, I am certain that the Colonial Brotherhood is on a good course. The way your crew responds to you speaks to how well you lead. I have the blades, perhaps it is time that I join the Brotherhood myself. After all, your grandfather was an Assassin as well – these are his. I have tweaked them a little over the years, but they initially belonged to him. What is the name your mother gave you, if you do not mind me knowing… Mentor?”

Connor’s face warmed into a broad, happy smile that lasted for several seconds. He hesitated for a bit before giving into the impulse to pull his father into a tight embrace, marveling in the fact that he was able to actually meet his father, forgetting himself. “Ratonhnhake:ton. Ratonhnhake:ton is what Ista named me, Rake:ni.”

Haytham returned the embrace with equal zeal, only a little surprised that his son was a couple of inches taller than he was… And that the other had hugged him. But he hugged the other back as tightly as a happiness that he had not experienced since the last time he had met Ziio filled him. Several long seconds of frantically trying to string the syllables together in his head later culminated in “… Ratonhnhake:ton? Did I say your name correctly? It sounds like a strong name.” Kaneihti:io had meant beautiful snow – a name that fit well the lovely woman who had been named after.

“Yes you did… And I would be honored if you joined my Brotherhood, Captain Haytham Kenway.” Connor breathed, still smiling as he continued to hold onto his father.

“I am honored that you would let me join. I will do my best to help our cause to the best of my abilities.” Haytham answered, the smile evident in his voice.


	7. A Different Path - part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen!Connor tries to find his mentor after he manages to flee from British Guards after The Boston Massacre.

Connor had been able to get some of the things that Achilles had wanted, but unfortunately the general store owner did not sell wood, or at least the kind of wood that was needed to repair a building. The winter breeze was cutting through the teenager, causing him to shiver just a little as he looked around, trying to find his mentor.

The crowds in the streets of this large and awe-inspiring city were angry. The people were shouting and a few were fighting against individual guards, while groups of others joined to egg on the fighting. Why things had changed so drastically, so dangerously, the novice Assassin could not guess. He needed to find Achilles before things potentially got worse.

He found the old man standing near several barrels, hunched over his cane and watching the restlessness in the streets. Connor hoped that the other knew what was going on “What happened?” he asked, taking care not to speak too loudly, lest they attract unwanted attention.

“That is what we are going to find out. Follow me.” Achilles answered, gesturing for Connor to follow him as they made their way towards what seemed to be the center of the chaos. There was more angry shouting from civilians, as well as fights breaking out between soldiers and aforementioned civilians.

As they reached the edge of a particularly large and vicious crowd, the air felt heavy, as though there was a thunderstorm about to break. The captain of the group of redcoats was trying to cajole the crowd into dispersing from the area, to go back to their homes. Several of the mob shouted something about crimes that the soldiers had committed, and that why would the soldiers not return to where they had come from.

Connor looked at the intimidating and vicious crowd, a growing sense of unease and fear as he looked through the crowd, trying to figure out if there was a source to all of this trouble.

Achilles tapped him on one shoulder, pointing his cane in a certain direction. “There.”

The novice looked in the direction his mentor indicated. Connor saw a tall, well dressed man in a strange looking had, watching the mob and the frightened soldiers with keen interest, speaking with another who was carrying a bayoneted musket rifle. Time seemed to still as intense curiosity filled the teenager. Was that man…? The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them “Is that my father?”  Wondering, and a brief desire to know how the older man would react if they were to meet. Connor turned to Achilles, wanting to know the truth.

‘Yes.” The old Assassin growled “Which means trouble is sure to follow. I need you to tail his accomplice.”

Connor’s focus was almost entirely on the man who was his father, though he did note the man he was supposed to follow for Achilles. Why did the old man mistrust his father so much? It was not something that Achilles had explained all that well, and with the prospect of his father so close… The young Assassin was rather distracted by the prospect of possibly meeting his father.

He only half-heard Achilles’s words “This crowd is a powder keg – we cannot allow him to light the fuse.” The old man was firm on this, and determined to stop his father.

But stop him from doing what exactly? And why was it so incredibly necessary to tail the man, when Connor might simply be able to go up to Kenway and speak to the man? “But-“

Achilles cut him off. What Connor had been about to say, he could not guess. “But nothing. Do as I say and go!” He needed to make certain that his new recruit did not get distracted by the fact that his father – and the wretched Templar Grandmaster – was so close. They needed to stop whatever underhanded machinations the Templars were doing.

Connor nodded and obediently trailed after the rifle-carrying man, making sure to skirt the edges of the crowd. The crowd jeered at the soldiers, egging them on to try and shoot them, to hurt them. Perhaps the citizens gathered wanted a reason to attack the soldiers en masse, but were waiting for the soldiers to attack first before retaliating?

~_~_~_~_

It was only a little difficult to follow the man – the person he was tailing occasionally turned around to scan the crowd as they walked through a couple of side streets and to the back of a building, where a long ladder leaned against the wall, providing an easy way to get to the roof. Connor hid behind a fence, waiting and checking to make certain that the man was not looking back as he went up the ladder.

Once the stranger was on the roof, walking back towards the main square, did Connor run over to the ladder and climb up it as fast as he dared to, doing his best not to make any noise. Whatever was going to happen, whatever it was that the man was going to do, Connor was certain the man was going to do soon.

When he caught sight of the man again, the musket-carrying colonial had knelt down, and was aiming his rifle, either at the crowd or at one of the soldiers. The sound of gunfire would certainly set off both sides, so Connor carefully crept up behind the sniper and slit his throat with his tomahawk, to prevent the man from causing a panic. “Your plot is ended.” He hissed at the dying man.

The other smirked, even as he drew his last breath, looking over at the opposite roof “Not quite…”

Connor looked over, to see the smug face of the man who had burned down his village after beating him up. Charles Lee! The arrogant bastard raised his pistol to the sky as Connor watched Lee in dawning horror and rage and shot it off.

This provoked the frightened captain of the guard to order his men to fire, frightened for his life and the lives of those under his command. “Damn you. Fire!”

Horror filled Connor as he watched and heard gunshots, trying to figure out what, if there was anything he could do. The ugliness of the situation rooting the teenager to the spot. His eyes found Lee, who smirked and backed away, pleased by the chaos and pain that he had once again inflicted on innocent people. He searched the crowd for Achilles, hoping that the old man hadn’t gotten hurt or killed in the brawl.

Out of the corner of one eye, Connor thought he saw his father tap a soldier on one shoulder, and point in his direction. He ran off across the rooftops as soldiers shouted for him to stop or slow down. He reached the edge of the rooftop, knowing that the gap to the next one was too large for him to jump, so he leapt onto a lower roof, and tumbling off of the cloth roof, freezing on the ground for a couple of moments as he heard more gunshots. Connor rolled up, searching frantically for a place to hide.

He dove into a hay cart as soldiers rushed by, looking for him as the source of the trouble. He was starting to understand why Achilles was so suspicious and wary of his father, if this was the sort of thing that his father set into motion. What possible purpose would it serve to further divide the soldiers who were supposed to protect the people from the populace they were supposed to guard and protect?

Once the commotion seemed to die down a little in the small courtyard he was in, Connor risked leaving the hay cart to look around, leaning around corners, searching for Achilles, trying to find the old man so that they could leave Boston before things got any worse. He kept to the side streets, occasionally walking up alleyways to use his second sight to search for a blue figure in amongst all of the muted grays and glaring reds.

~_~_~_~_

Hours passed, and Connor had found posters of his face with bounty money on them as he continued to sneak around the city, desperately searching for Achilles, starting to despair of ever finding the old man. He took down the wanted posters that he could find, edging away from the groups of stationary soldiers, and evading the roving patrols the best of his ability.

The winter’s chill was starting to get to him, which was why the teenager risked going to a barrel with fire in it. Connor suppressed a shiver of fear, even as he extended his arms over the flames, to gain some of the heat he had lost in the frantic fleeing and searching of this large city. He needed to find Achilles. As tempting as it was to simply leave Boston –or attempt to sneak around the barricades to try – and go back to Achilles’ manor, Connor would never forgive himself for simply abandoning the old man in a place as violently chaotic as Boston was at this moment. Nor, Connor wryly thought, would Achilles.

He turned his back, to warm the rest of him up on the fire, looking up at the sky, the stars shining down cold and distant, heedless to the pain and suffering below them. Connor straightened up, once he was warm enough to continue searching through the night. He had to find Achilles – the carriage they had used to get to Boston had been turned over in the ensuing panic and violence after Lee had shot his pistol, provoking the soldiers.

Connor climbed up the side of another building, sticking to the side of the roof that hid him from the main street where a majority of the soldiers were, when he heard a vaguely familiar and anger-inducing voice. “-master would like to have him found immediately. If we can catch and kill him, that should be the end of it, since the old man was trampled by the mob surrounding the square and killed.”

It was Lee, talking to a group of men. It seemed as though he was giving them orders. Connor hid behind a chimney to avoid detection, waiting for Lee to be alone. Achilles had recently taught him how to do an air assassination, and given that in a one-on-one fight Lee had reach, weight and much more experience, it was best to take him out that way. The four men nodded and three of them left. One of them stayed long enough to smirk at Charles “An’ I am guessing the big boss would like me to spread the news to others to look for the little Assassin. We do not want you to catch a cold in this weather, Charlie.”

“Leave off, Thomas! I am required elsewhere, as are you. I think… I think the Assassin on the rooftop was… Was the child. He has to be dead before the Grandmaster finds him. Master Kenway would rather try to turn the boy than to kill him out of hand.” Lee hissed anxiously.

The smug smirk on Thomas’ face vanished, replaced by a panicked expression. “Are… Are you certain? You know that he ordered us to leave Her village and Her people be. To stop looking for the temple? I told you we should have killed the lad. Unless he does not remember what happened to him?”

“Oh, I am certain he remembers. The look of hatred and recognition on his face…You, and the other two he might not remember…But me? I doubt I would be so lucky.” Lee answered. “We will make it look as though soldiers found him and killed him for trying to resist them, understood?”

“Yeah, yeah. I understand. Still, this whole mess might have been avoided if you had learned how to keep yer temper. Or just killed the boy.” Thomas scoffed before leaving.

Connor reeled internally. Achilles had said that it was likely his father had ordered the attack on his village, or at least had a direct hand in it. But according to the unwitting confessions of two of his tormentors… That was not the case. His father was innocent and ignorant of what had happened. Why his father had caused this to happen, Connor did not know… But the fact that his father did not order the destruction of his village… A sudden weight seemed to have been lifted off of his shoulders.

Lee was muttering to himself irritably, not particularly focused on his surroundings. Connor took the opportunity to get into position, body tensing as he waited for Lee to get close enough. Once the Templar was directly beneath the eve Connor was lurking over, the novice Assassin jumped and landed, tomahawk raised high as he struck Lee down from behind. “You sought to kill me twice now. And twice you have done so without the direction of your Grandmaster.” Connor hissed, watching as Lee’s life was drained from him.

“Why…Do you look so… Familiar? Why would…That woman give a young stranger that necklace?” Lee asked, frowning in recognition at the talisman that Haytham had given Her. What was the importance of this brat?

“Haytham Kenway is my father. My mother was called Ziio by white men, until she burned to death by your hands the day you strangled me in the woods.” Connor bit back, eyes flashing gold.

“I did not… Set fire to your village. That was done on the orders of a British commander.” Lee rasped out before going limp in Connor’s hands. This left the Assassin staring and utterly confused. The spirit who had told him to seek out the Brotherhood’s symbol had implied that his father had a hand in the death of his mother, and would be a cause of the death of his people, and to stop that, he would need to join the Assassins to save them. Connor was convinced that though Lee had been a horrible person with many faults… As he lay dying, Lee had spoken the truth as he had known it. So who had destroyed his village? The spirit… The spirit had proven to be unreliable.

He needed to find Achilles. Lee and Thomas had implied that Achilles had been killed in the square where the shooting had begun, but Connor wanted to believe otherwise. He ran through the side streets of Boston, heart thumping loudly in his mouth as he went to the original scene of what was turning into a city-wide brawl.


	8. A Different Path - part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen!Connor finds Achilles... What's left of the old man.

Connor found Achilles slumped over and sitting on a bench. He approached the old man, calling out to the other “Achilles? Old man?” There was no response from the other. Surely he could not have fallen asleep in this frigid weather? It would be very dangerous to do so. Connor lightly touched one of Achilles’ shoulders…

But the old man did not move. With trembling fingers, Connor tilted the old man’s face, revealing a series of bruises and markings. He held his other hand in front of the other’s nose and mouth, hoping that he would be able to feel the other’s breath on his hands. Time stretched and twisted around him as Connor counted under his breath, trying not to tremble as no breath could be felt. Before he reacted too badly, Connor remembered how to check someone’s pulse, trying to feel for the old man’s pulse, first on the inside of his wrist, then along Achilles’ neck.

He waited and counted, heedless to the fact that he was out in the open, uncaring for the moment that there were guards all over the city looking for him, who believed that Connor was the reason why they had been attacked, and the source of the city-wide brawl that was still ongoing in different parts of Boston. But Connor could feel nothing, and Achilles was cold. Too cold to be alive. Achilles’s clothes were torn and battered in ways that they had not been before, and the cane he always had with him was nowhere to be found near him.

Now… Now what was he going to do? The only person who could teach him (who Connor knew of) how to be an Assassin was dead, and Connor was uncertain as to whether or not he would be able to get Achilles back to Homestead. There were roadblocks everywhere, and Connor knew that he would not be able to carry the old man’s body over walls, across rooftops and through the trees he would need to scale and run across in order to evade them all. Perhaps if he put Achilles’ body in a hay cart, he could move the body through the streets, hiding when the roving patrols came? Then he could continue on his way. The soldiers could not keep the checkpoints up in all parts of the city for too long, the citizens would not stand for it.

It might take a week, perhaps a week and a half, but Connor was determined to get the old man home, and to bury him next to the two other graves on the cliff near the back side of the manor. He did have a bit of money left that Achilles had given him – to pay for wood, and he did know how to pickpocket others so coin for food and an inn – if any of the innkeepers would deign to house him - would not be all that hard to come by, if he was careful. Plan in mind, Connor went in search of the nearest hay cart, wanting to get it in place, before moving his dead mentor into said cart.

~-~-~-~-

Connor found the nearest hay cart with good wheels in another hour – and it was well past the darkest part of the night, as the moon had traveled most of the way across the night sky. The sun had yet to rise, and it was difficult for the teenager to stay warm without moving constantly, but at last he found a good cart He started to roll it when a shout from behind him caused the novice Assassin to freeze.

“Oi! Where are you going with that?” A soldier shouted from behind Connor, revealed to be such, when the novice Assassin turned his head to look at the person shouting.

He dropped the handles of the cart, running as fast as he could away from the soldier, stumbling a little over a loose cobblestone. He had been awake all day and most of the night, and exhaustion was starting to slow his movements and mess with his perception. The biting cold and the sorrow he felt for the loss of his mentor – and the senseless loss of life in the square caused by Templars hours earlier – only exacerbated the problem.

“Lad! What are you doing out so late?  It is dangerous to be out so late.” The soldier scolded him as Connor continued to run, chasing after him.

Connor nearly crashed into the wall of the building he had meant to climb, before he grabbed at a window sill, scrabbling about halfway up the wall of the building, ignoring the soldier’s orders to stop and to come back down…

And realized that he had no way to climb upwards. He looked right, finding no purchase that would allow him to go upwards once again. A look to the left showed him another window that he should swing over to, that was set slightly above the window he was currently clinging to. Connor swung over, grabbing at the window sill. He managed to grab hold of it, but as his other hand let go, he realized that snow had collected on the windowsill, and his fingers melted the water. His grip was wrong and he was unable to catch himself.

He fell to the ground in a painful tangle of limbs, groaning and shaking. He had landed in a show-covered bush and was wet and shivering with cold. He cupped his hands and blew into them, before rubbing his arms and shoulders as he sat in the bushes, in pain and very much unhappy as the soldier approached him.

Unlike the others, he had white and styled hair, and his uniform was much nicer than the others. The uniform looked a bit more elaborate as well. “I know you are there, lad. Additionally, I know that you were not the one who shot into the crowd, provoking them. For one thing, you have no pistol, and you do not seem the type to cause trouble just because you want to. The old man you were checking on, was he your grandfather?” The soldier’s voice was calm, understanding and kind.

“No. We… We met a few months ago, and I have been working for him.” Connor answered honestly as he tentatively stood up and made his way over to the soldier, dark brown eyes sad and a little hopeful. “I was travelling through the frontier and he was being attacked by bandits. I helped him defend himself from them and I have been working for him ever since. Today was the first day I have ever been in a city this large, or any colonial city. When the… When the shot went off, I was on the roof as I was trying to find Master Davenport as there were so many people… They were so close together and so angry.” Connor shivered and stared up at him, genuinely anxious. It had been frightening.

“Did you see who did shoot? Or were they in the crowd?” The soldier asked, moving a little closer to the teenager, voice still kind and warm.

“There was a man on the rooftop across from me. He had a pistol and shot it into the air, which scared the soldiers into shooting into the crowd. He ran off shortly after. I do not know who told the city guards it was I who shot, I have never shot a pistol or any kind of firearm before.” Connor answered earnestly, moving closer to the man. “Ah… I think I have been rude to not ask what your name is?”

“I am Major John Pitcairn. What is your name, lad? Do you think you would be able to describe the man who provoked this unfortunate incident?” Pitcairn asked.

“Yes. We met once before, although I do not know if he remembers. His name is Charles Lee. He beat and strangled me when I was a small child. He and three others – one named Thomas, one named Church and one named… William? Were looking for my village. When I did not respond to them, Lee grabbed me and strangled me, going on a rant about how superior his kind were, and that how the wisest among my people begged for mercy at the feet of men like him. He dropped me and hit me over the head with the butt of a rifle like that. When I woke, I smelled smoke and ran to my village to find it burning. My… My mother…” Connor stopped speaking, one hand reaching for the talisman his mother had given him and holding it tightly “My mother was trapped inside of a burning building. I was not… I was not strong enough to save her. The name I go by that you will be able to pronounce is Connor.”

“I… I see. This Charles Lee has much to answer for.” Pitcairn responded, a frown appearing on his face as the soldier took in the information. “How did you come by the name Connor?”

“Master Davenport gave it to me, as Ratonhnhake:ton was not something he felt that he would be able to try to pronounce.” The novice Assassin answered truthfully. Connor still shivered from the wetness that clung to his clothes, and no amount of shifting about in place and rubbing seemed to be taking the chill from his body.

“Come with me, lad. I will take you somewhere warm and dry, so that you will not freeze. You have been through a great deal.” Pitcairn remarked, lightly placing a hand on Connor’s back, withdrawing a little when the teenager flinched at the touch. “My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.”

“I would be grateful for somewhere warm and dry, Major Pitcairn.” The Assassin… More of a boy really answered, peering up at John with almost impossibly large brown eyes. Connor looked so lost and miserable, John’s heart went out to the lad. Besides, the Grandmaster wanted the young Assassin captured alive if possible and brought to him at the Green Dragon. This way it did not overly upset the lad. “Follow me and we shall get out of the cold.”

Connor nodded, teeth chattering a little as he followed closely behind the Templar, utterly oblivious as to who the other truly was or where they were going.


	9. A Different Path - part three

Connor was uncertain as to why Major Pitcairn had decided help him – or at least pretend that he was going to. He made sure to keep a cautious distance between himself and the soldier, keeping watch for any signs that pointed this to be a trap of one kind or another. Connor had seen the forts as he had wandered the city and watched carefully, in case they were heading to one of them. When he saw one of the soldiers’ patrols coming, he would hide, waiting for them to get out of sight before returning to Pitcairn, who patiently waited for him to come out, rather than leaving Connor…Or alerting the soldiers that the person they were searching for was close at hand.

On one hand, following this man was probably not the smartest thing to do… On the other, it was not as though Connor had much of a choice. Pitcairn was watching him carefully, and with the barricades and checkpoints set up all over the city, getting out to return to his people… Or to the now empty manor that Achilles had lived in and owned was going to be very difficult. Perhaps the reason why Pitcairn was so confident that Connor would not suddenly run from him was that the soldier could sense that Connor had little choice but to do as he had been asked.

They eventually made their way to a tavern called the Green Dragon. Connor looked at the place with some skepticism. The tavern was in a nicer part of Boston and Connor was uncertain as to whether or not he would be welcomed at this early hour of the morning or at anytime.

Pitcairn noticed his uncertainty, “I know the owners of this tavern well. They are good people, and should be awake at this time. Come along lad.” Unlike the first time, the soldier did not attempt to touch him, merely opening the door and gesturing for the exhausted and slightly suspicious teenager to enter. Connor shuffled inside, a sigh of relief escaping him as a wave of warmth washed over him All of the tables were empty- and given that it was barely dawn, Connor was unsurprised by the lack of people. Pitcairn gently guided Connor to a table near the large hearth- the embers were glowing strongly, keeping the room were. The teen yawned, covering his mouth as he did so. As he warmed up, hunger and sleep hit him at the same time. Connor’s stomach complained loudly, prompting a small smile from the major.

“I will go ask if they have something for you to eat, Connor. “John murmured, a second smile appearing on his face.

“Mnn? I would be grateful for something to eat. I do have money to pay for it…” Connor managed out through another jaw-cracking yawn. He knew he should be wary of Pitcairn’s help and kindness, but Connor could not muster up the energy to feel anything other than grateful for the unexpected but desperately needed assistance. Connor leaned onto the table arms folding on top of the table. He rested his head on his arms. He watched Pitcairn move about the room with one eye. The warmth of the room, and the relative security lulled Connor to sleep.

“Connor? I have a bowl of soup and some bread for you.” An unfamiliar voice said, startling the novice Assassin awake.

“… Thank you,” Connor answered as the previous day and night’s events flashed through his mind. Connor hesitated for a moment, this could be a trap of some kind- but he was ravenous and had very few places he could go. The soup as delicious and the bread was a little dry, but excellent when dipped in the broth. Once he finished eating, Connor asked quietly, “what do you want from me?”

“You needed help and were innocent of the crime you were accused of. Is there any other reason why I should help you?“ John countered quietly, “A friend of mine does wish to speak with you, young Assassin. If you were accidentally killed or imprisoned, that would be impossible.”

“What is the name of this friend of yours? Why do you call me an Assassin?” Connor asked tensing a little as he realized that he only visible entrance Connor could find, he would have to go around Pitcairn to get to the door.

“Because Achilles Davenport was the mentor of the English Colonial Brotherhood of Assassins before the Brotherhood here was destroyed. The friend of mine who wants to meet you is Haytham Kenway.” Pitcairn responded, watching the young Assassin very carefully, curious as to how much Davenport had told the lad, and in what manner the old man had told Connor.

Surprise, confusion and anxiety were the main emotions playing across Connor’s face. Followed by intense curiosity and wariness along with a dawning realization. “You… You are a Templar. That is how you know that I was not to blame for what happened last night. I find it curious that you did not defend the actions of Lee, who is a fellow Templar.”

“… The grandmaster wanted to have the altercation tonight. But what he did to you, and might have had a hand in, with what happened to your village, he would never have wanted. Even if he did, I would never have condoned such and I would have left the Templar Order if I thought that Grandmaster Kenway would ever consider doing such a thing.” Pitcairn answered earnestly, watching the young Assassin carefully. There was no true fear in the other’s face or body posture. Nor was there hatred or overt suspicion, beyond what was to be expected… Yet the lad seemed more open to meeting the grandmaster than Pitcairn had been expecting.

Connor fidgeted a little with the talisman his mother had given him. It was a habit that Achilles had been trying to break him of, but touching it helped him to calm down. It reminded him that while his mother was dead and he was far from his loved ones, he would always have part of them with him, no matter how far from home he traveled. It also served as a reminder of the charge given to him by the spirit, to protect his people. “I see. I do not know Haytham Kenway, so I would not make judgments on the sort of person he may or may not be.”

“I am curious as to how came by that, Connor was it?” A new voice asked from the stairs, startling both Connor and Pitcairn. They turned to find that the person who had spoken, was Grandmaster Kenway. Kenway had a curiously intense expression on his face as he looked at the pendant that Connor had been fidgeting with.

“I do go by Connor, yes. My mother gave this to me, just before she died.” Connor answered, holding onto the pendant more tightly, worry filling him as he wondered if the Templar would try to take it from him. The talisman was the only thing he had left of his mother, and he would fight to keep it.

“I… I gave that to your mother, shortly after we met for the second or third time… If your mother’s name is Ziio.” Haytham answered back, bright blue eyes wide and over-bright as he moved closer to the two of them, focused almost entirely on Connor. There was a strange intensity to Haytham that John had not been expecting in the least.

Ziio… She had been the woman who had taken his grandmaster’s heart and never let go. She had banished him from her presence, but Pitcairn was quite certain that he still loved her. A realization hit him as he refocused on the novice Assassin in front of him. John had noticed that there was something familiar about the boy’s nose and chin. The calm self-possession had been familiar as well, but Pitcairn had not put it together until the two of them were in the same room. It made the fact that Davenport had likely chosen the name Connor for young Ratonhnhake:ton, the name of his dead son… For his grandmaster’s son deliberately.

“She told white men to call her Ziio. It was easier for them to say, than her full name. Not that we had much contact with them in the village.” Connor responded, watching Haytham move closer to him, clearly struggling with something. “Mother told me about you once. She loved you still, and I am certain that her spirit is with you, as much as with me. She said that you lead a very dangerous life, and did not want to put me in danger, which is why she never told you.”

The words hit Haytham like a physical blow, causing him to close his eyes before taking in a deep, shaking breath. “I had heard that the British had been burning down any native village that they came across, claiming that they had sided with the French… But I had hoped that Ziio’s had escaped the flames.”

Connor looked up at his father, quietly marveling at the fact that he had been able to meet the man. He ignored a small voice in the back of his mind that warned him against trusting or listening to the Templar. It had taken Connor months to find Achilles, and he had confirmation from both the old man and the Templars that there were no others Assassins in the colonies.  No one left to train him in their ways. Besides… Connor was certain that his mother would not have fallen in love with an evil man, no matter what Achilles had said. “I see. I did not intend to bring such bad news to you.”

“It is the fault of those who ordered and carried out those orders. Ziio was unusual in that she left her village for extended periods of time, from what I was able to gather. Why did you choose to do so as well? How did you find yourself in Davenport’s company?” His rake:ni asked, trying to understand what had pushed him into becoming an Assassin.

Part of Connor knew that his (dead, and it hurt to think of that, despite the fact that he had known Achilles only a few months) mentor would scold him vociferously for not trying to escape capture, in addition to the fact that Connor found himself truthfully answering his father’s queries “Months ago, I went on a spirit journey, and I was contacted by a spirit. She told me that in order to protect my people, I should seek the man who knows of this symbol.” Connor paused, drawing the Brotherhood’s symbol in the air.

He did not speak of the door-ball thing that allowed him to speak with the spirit, nor the nexus and the place where the spirits rested. For one thing, he sounded mad enough as it was…The other, there might be very good reasons as to why the spirit-woman did not want the Templars to find what his village protected. “She told me to seek training from him. That I would gain the knowledge necessary to protect my people. My people are being pushed and killed and sold into slavery… So I left, seeking the symbol and found Achilles. At first he refused to train me. After bandits attacked and I slew most of them, Achilles decided to train me. He had a painting of you on the wall in a hidden part of the manor. I mentioned to him then that you were my father.” Connor finished.

Rake:ni and Pitcairn were both quiet and contemplative. Haytham spoke, choosing his words with great care “I have heard whispers that occasionally one or two Assassins or Templars come into contact with a spirit similar to who you described to me. What the spirits want, and what they were after, were not always the same thing. Usually what the spirits wanted went against what the Templar or Assassin truly wanted to accomplish, and would detrimentally affect what the Assassin or Templar was actually trying to accomplish.” Haytham was fairly certain that Connor was not telling him everything about what had happened when he had encountered the spirit, but he would not push. Connor had given him a great deal of information and showed great trust in doing so.

“I… I see. Perhaps she did intend for me to meet you. As I would not have gone to Boston, without Achilles asking me to accompany him here.” Connor responded, a bit of hope in his voice as he watched the other carefully. “That is…If… If you…” He could not finish the sentence, suddenly unable to look at either of the other two. The very real possibility of Kenway not wanting anything to do with him occurring to Connor. The Grandmaster’s interest in him had likely stemmed from the fact that he had killed one of the other’s agents, and had been in the company of the former mentor of the English Colonial Brotherhood.

“I… I would like nothing more than to get to know you, my son.” Haytham responded, hesitating for a moment or two before reaching out and lightly touching one of Connor’s shoulders, to try and get the other to look at him.

Connor’s head jerked up, eyes wide and a large smile appearing on his face. “I… Thank you, father. I would be… Be very happy to get to know you as well!” He was shaking a little, but he did not feel cold. His heart felt too large and shivery as well and Connor wanted very much to give into the impulse to hug his father…But felt that hugging a stranger, even if they were related by blood was… He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

Pitcairn made the choice for the both of them by gently pushing Connor towards his father, a knowing look in his eyes. “Go on. There is no one here but the three of us, as of yet and this is a joyful meeting.”

They embraced – awkwardly at first, but each held on more tightly when they realized that they had a member of their family with them, and that they might be able to protect the other by staying close. Haytham was determined to raise his son, so long as Connor wanted him to and no one else would be able to separate the two of them, come hell or high water. Connor was very glad to have another member of his family, and hoped that together, they might be able to protect his mother’s people.

~-~-~-~-

Years later, Connor stood before the entire English Colonial inner circle, a sense of excitement filling him as his father had hinted that this was happening all week. Still he waited patiently at attention, as his father began the speech.

“Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all that for which we stand?” His grandmaster asked, voice calm and commanding.

“I do.” Connor answered earnestly. Not everything had gone easily, when they had first started to live and learn about one another. Particularly as three days after he and his father had met, Lee’s body had been found. He had truthfully told his father that he had killed Lee, and why he had done so. It had been a point of contention while they had been just getting to know one another, as Lee had been his father’s second in command, as well as in an incredibly useful position. Rake:ni had been less angry with him when Connor had explained, and unspeakably disappointed in his old friend that he had been capable of harming a child. Still… It had taken time for the two of them to work through that.

“And never to share our secrets nor divulge the nature of our work?” Haytham asked, as was tradition.

“I do.” Connor pledged, nodding a little. He had proved to be equally useful. He had worked with Johnson – though he felt distaste for the high handed land speculator – to work out a treaty with the Iroquois, that through Templar intervention had been held and kept steady for five years. Those who violated the treaty – who were more often than not Colonial – were punished properly and reparations made. Why the spirit had thought him becoming an Assassin would lead to this, Connor did not know. Perhaps she had meant for him to do as she willed, as an Assassin.

“And to do so from now until death – whatever the cost?” His father inquired, face and voice impassive.

“I do.” Connor answered earnestly.

“Then we welcome you into the fold, brother. You are a Templar, harbinger of a new world.” His father responded, stepping forwards. “May the father of understanding guide us.”

Connor, as well as the inner circle answered at the same time as was appropriate “May the father of understanding guide us.”

A proud smile appeared on his father’s face after the meeting was over and the others left. Haytham handed Connor his Templar ring, still smiling at his son. Words could not express the joy that he felt at the fact that his son was a full Templar.


	10. Time Travel AU part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a favor to the French Brotherhood, Connor attempts to retrieve a Piece of Eden

Connor looked very carefully at the Piece of Eden that he had gone through a very complicated series of traps and tightly timed trials to get to. The last time he had encountered an Artifact, it had sent him to a different world. Connor had dropped it into the bottom of the sea once he had come back to himself, to ensure that its’ terrible power could not tempt anyone.

This golden object almost seemed to glow on its’ own. There was a very little known about this Artifact, apart from its’ existence. No one who had gone after this Piece of Eden came back. He had found bones of several Assassins- the tattered remains of their clothes and hidden blades the only indications of who they once were. As he had carefully made his way to the chamber, Connor had found the remains of about the same number of Templars as well. They had fallen either to the traps, or had fallen to the Assassins’ blades – quite possibly as the Assassin or Assassins fell to the wound inflicted by the Templars. At least, from what Connor could tell, that was what had happened.

Connor readjusted his leather gloves and was glad to note that the largest empty pouch would be able to contain the Piece of Eden discretely. He searched the room thoroughly for any traps, glad that he had Kidd’s ring, as the trap he did find and carefully disable hot four inch long, jagged spikes made of metal. Connor checked the room one last time for traps with his second sight. Satisfied that it was safe enough to approach, he stepped up to the pedestal that held the Artifact. Connor gingerly grabbed the Piece of Eden, lifting it and carefully placing it in an empty pouch.

Connor stepped off of the pedestal, internally wondering how the Parisian Brotherhood was going to take his success, where so many others had failed, when everything turned a blinding gold. The walls flashed different, strange symbols and a complex series of patterns of lines and circles lit up on both the floor and ceiling. Lit up on both the floor and ceiling, disorienting Connor and causing him to hiss and stagger. He covered his face with his hands, eyes shut tightly as he waited for the light to fade.

A feminine voice spoke to him. Directly into his mind, it felt like to Connor. His eyes opened in shock. “You have suffered much, in Juno’s hands. I hope that this gift will allow you to find a bit of peace. You will be able to go home when you understand.”

He thought he saw the image of a tall woman staring at him, her lips not moving, but Connor was certain that it was she who spoke to him. Hundreds of questions vied for his attention to ask this strange being, but before he could begin, her image reached towards him, brushing ghostly fingers across his forehead. “Be well, Ratonhnhake:ton. Rest and when you wake, you will find yourself in a place you will recognize, but will be changed.”

A wave of exhausting hit Connor at that, and he struggled against it, determined to ask – even as darkness ate at the corners of his vision. He managed out “Who are you?”

A quiet chuckle was his only response as the darkness claimed him.


	11. Time Travel AU part two

Connor woke up to sunlight shining in his face. He grimaced a little and blinked as sleep left him. His body complained about sleeping on the stone floor by aching. As he looked around, Connor realized that he was in the Sacred Cave. As the memories of what happened the last time he was conscious, Connor wondered what the spirit had wanted him to learn. Juno must have been the one who spoke to him as a teenager, setting him on the path to become an Assassin, and later when she spoke to him about his journey not being over. The one who said that his people had fulfilled their usefulness in guarding this cave from destruction.

Why Juno wanted the cave to be protection, Ratonhnhake:ton didn’t have a clue. But it was clear that she had wanted him to become an Assassin for her own goals, and not what he had wanted, which was to protect his people from invaders. Connor shook himself mentally. He would keep her words in mind and search for any knowledge he did not currently possess. He wondered if those who had bought his people’s land from the continental congress had yet to take down the buildings of his village to set up their own. Checking to see if it was so would only be upsetting and futile.

Worse still, as the colonists had the right to the land bought from the Congress… If they felt that he was threatening them, they had the right to chase him from his ancestral home with weapons. Connor had no desire whatsoever to go through that and decided to head to Homestead.

He would need to contact Faulkner and have his first mate bring The Aquila back home, as he had been transported back to the Colo-… To the United States of America through methods unknown and very swift. Connor noted with a small frown that he was in his Captain of the Aquila outfit, rather than his Assassin’s robes, which he had been wearing as he had been assisting the Parisian Brotherhood.

It took him most of the day to get back to Davenport Homestead… Or where the small, but thriving village should have been. Where a road should be, was only a game trail. As Connor drew closer, the buildings and people who should be there were nowhere to be found.

Confusion and growing panic at the thought of those whom he had grown to view was family had vanished, and along with them, all of their things. A cheerful and slightly accented voice called out to him from the bough of a tree in front of him and slightly to the right. “Hello, lad! I have not seen you around here before. You look a bit… Lost.”

Connor spotted a strange Assassin dark brown and black robes, lounging against the trunk of the tree.  I suppose I am lost. Do you know where I am?”

“Aye, the land around here belongs to Achilles Davenport. He’s got a manor deeper into the valley. You looking for him? Or are you out… Hunting?” The strange Assassin responded, watching Connor carefully and curiously.

It took every ounce of his self-control to not react to the name of his dead mentor. All that betrayed his shock was a slight widening of his eyes. “I see. The reason why I am here is… Vague to say the least, and I am uncertain as to whether or not it will make much sense. What… What year is it?” Either this Assassin was playing a cruel trick on him, or between the Spirit’s will and whatever power that was contained in the Piece of Eden had brought him back into the past. Whether it was the past of his world or another’s, Connor could only guess. Given the fact that the village he had helped to create was missing, it was more likely to be the latter scenario, rather than the former. But why had he been sent back? It made no sense.

“That’s an odd question to ask lad, given that you have yet to ask my name. “The other responded with mild amusement.

“Ah, I have been rude. What is your name?” Connor responded, flustering a little. All of this had him forget for a little bit about his manners.

“Shay Cormac. May I have yours?” The Irish Assassin answered cheerfully.

… The only Shay Cormac Connor had heard of in this war, was the commander of the Colo-American Templar fleet, and his father’s Enforcer. Between the two of them, they had utterly destroyed the previous Colonial Brotherhood. Not just in the English Colonies, but in the French colonies in America as well. Was this Assassin and the truly feared Assassin Hunter the same person? If so, Connor would be careful. Very, very careful. Not that he wouldn’t be careful if he was in the past. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Cormac. You…” Connor was the name of Achilles’ son… Who quite possibly died recently or might still be alive. Then again it was a fairly common Colonial name “You may call me Connor.”

“That’s a fine name for a man from Wales. I reckon you have another name, but I will not press for it.” Cormac responded with a small smile. “I would not mind if you called me Shay”

“As you wish, Shay.” Connor responded, nodding a little as he spoke.

A voice called out from further into the valley, pinched with irritation “Shay! Where the hell are you lazing about now! Your help is needed. Something urgent and potentially very dangerous or incredibly useful depending on the full nature of the unexpected development.” The voice sounded French and angry.

“Oh shove off, Chevalier! There’s a wanderer in the valley and I have been talking to him for a little while. Says his name is Connor.” Shay snapped back, scowling in the direction of the voice.

“You must be busy. I had not meant to distract you from what important tasks you must complete. I did not know that this valley was purchased. I shall leave you to your duties and leave this place the way I came.” Ratonhnhake:ton responded quietly, starting to head away from the two of them from what he had been able to find out about the previous Brotherhood… They had wandered far from the ideals and what the Creed dictated. Besides to be this close to an Assassins’ Headquarters without something to introduce oneself with was to risk death or at least harsh interrogation.

“You probably should. Chevalier is a right pain in the arse at the best of times. What has got him so particularly irritated currently, I have no idea. But I have a bad feeling about how he might react to you now.” Shay grumbled, scowling a little.

Connor nodded, taking to the trees so that he would be far less likely to leave tracks. As he left, he heard the French Assassin tell Shay that the ship headed for Lisbon was ready to depart. There was more, but the breeze changed direction and Connor was out of range of listening in on the two of them.

 ~-~-~-~-

New York was closer than Boston as it was closer of the two cities in relation to Homestead. The other reason was that depending on how far back in the past Connor had gone, it was entirely likely that his father had yet to arrive in the English Colonies, according to the journals. His father tended to stay in Boston as he built up the Templar Rite there. He was able to pick up a newspaper that was fairly recent. The seven years war was under way- not that it was called that now. Connor was at a loss as to what to do.

He could either present himself to the Brotherhood with the Piece of Eden in hand and hope that they would believe his story… Or he could watch and wait. It was very strange to see the Assassin’s symbol everywhere set in an orange background. There were… Assassins? In black-green and orange uniforms who gathered and marched around in groups. They were… pushy and demanding of the civilians in a way that ground on Connor’s nerves. They acted rather a lot like the red coats did in his time…

Except for the fact that the red coats now actually tried to protect the civilians from those who worked under the orange Assassin Banner. There was only so much that the guards could do. Particularly since these fake Assassins had blades and training of real Assassins. Connor debated with himself what he should do- the last thing he wanted was to change things for the worse, or to attract unwanted attention to himself.

However, a few weeks later when a group of Bandit Assassins targeted the elderly couple who ran the Inn he was staying at, Connor lost it. He found them crowding Cassidy as they held parry in place, laughing and taunting the both of them about something that Connor did not catch. He lunged at the closer two, smacking them into one another and shoving them into the far walls before using a chair to stun the third. The fourth held a knife to Barry’s throat, trembling a little in fear and utter confusion. “Who the fuck are you? And why the hell are you interfering in business that isn’t yours?! We are a part of the group who really runs this town.”

“You are threatening the owners of this Inn. They are kind enough to let me stay here and the two of you are being very rude.” Connor remarked mildly, grabbing one of the Bandit’s fellows and calmly pressing a blade of his own against the other’s throat. “Let him go, leave this place and do not come back. Otherwise, I will find and kill you.” Connor calmly threatened. His hands were steady and his eyes cold.

“As… As if you would have the guts to kill him, boy. Run along now- leave that dagger you stole- and all is forgiven.” The bandit sneered back. There was a bit of a hitch in the other’s voice. A little uncertainty.

Connor drew a thin red line across the Bandit-Assassin’s throat. The false Assassin struggled and gasped in fear. Connor threatened quietly, “You will release Mr. Finnegan and all of you will leave this place and never return. If you persist with this, I will kill your companions one by one. I do not enjoy killing, but when I must I do not hesitate. You tremble, even as you hold onto Barry. Let him go and leave them alone, and you will not have bullied a pair of elders into parting with something that they are unable to truly give.”

The leader of the group kept staring at him, hands trembling still. His eyes darted to the other two bandits. Both of them were groaning and barely able to sit up. They held their heads, staring around with glassy eyes. “V…very well then. I will let him go and you let my friend go. On the count of three. One… Two… Three.”

Connor let go of the bandit, pleasantly surprised that the leader of the group of four did as he said he would. The leader darted towards the most injured of the group. His former captive darted towards the other dazed bandit and they left as quickly as they had appeared.

“Thank you, lad. It was very brave of you to stand up to them like that.” Cassidy responded a relieved, if surprised expression appearing on her face. Connor was usually a gentle and calm person, even when he was insulted or others tried to push him around. Not that he let himself be pushed around .the lad had first come to them in a fine outfit and rather heavily armed. They both wondered if, perhaps Connor had been a mercenary, and decided to leave that life for something less bloody.

“Aye, we are grateful for your help, Connor.” Barry responded with a small nod, glad to have the help and more determined than ever to have Connor meet Colonel Monro. The younger man was an excellent Hunter, did not shy from dealing with bandits and was an impressive fighter. Connor was well spoken and could read and write, in French, Spanish as well as in English.

Barry vividly remembered the group of Spanish merchants who had been noisily talking to one another a few weeks ago. Neither Barry nor Cassidy spoke more than a handful of words, but Connor had skillfully translated their words back and forth. They had wanted to pay for room and board and did so for another week it had taken for their ships to resupply. The Spanish merchants had paid handsomely, and it had taken only a bit of cajoling for Connor to agree to play translator while they had been in the city. Connor had done the same for a group of French merchants about a month ago. It was remarkable how easily the native had switched between European languages.

He was a very clever young man…. but it begged several questions in both of the Finnegan’s minds. Who had taught Connor all of these things, and for what purpose? Why had Connor decided to stay with them? Would however put as much time, effort and coin into training Connor in these skills come looking for him? Was Connor hiding from someone? They did not want to ask, as questions about Connor’s past were met with tense silences and anxious fidgeting.

The subject of the boy’s parents caused him to flinch and when Cassidy mentions that Connor’s father must be proud of such a kind and clever young man… he had dropped what he had been holding at the time as his face tightened into a carefully emotionless mask. Connor had never answered that question. Occasionally Cassidy would hear Connor calling out in a mixture of English and his first language. From the way Connor thrashed, they were nightmares. A particularly bad one dealt with fire and someone named Ista. Rake:ni held dreams of blood and cannon fire. Connor was a very competent and mysterious young man. They hoped to have him meet the Colonel soon, as both Barry and Cassidy were certain that Monro would be able to help Connor fight the demons that were plaguing the kind young man’s soul.


	12. Time Travel AU part three

It was very peaceful, working for the Finnegans. Something had drawn Connor to the two of them, a couple of months ago. It was a similar sensation that had drawn him to find the Assassin called Shay. He had been out hunting – they had asked for a dozen rabbits, as well as a couple of elk or deer if he could find them. Given that the seasons were starting to get colder, it made sense that at least the larger animals’ meat would be salted and preserved for winter, when it was much more difficult to hunt game.

It had taken Connor a couple of days to find all of the requested quarry – as well as cure the hides and to sell them at the market. He was a little concerned, as the gangs who had stolen the Assassins’ symbol were growing bolder and bolder as time went on. From what the time traveler had been able to tell, there was little if any organized Templar activity… Then again, according to his father’s journal entries while Haytham had been in the colonies a couple of years earlier, the man who would become the first Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite was currently in Europe with one Jim Holden, searching for his sister.

Connor’s heart ached, as he realized that it was possible that his father was still unaware of the deep betrayal that Birch had committed against him – against the entire Kenway family. That the English Grandmaster had led the attack with paid mercenaries to kill Edward, and had intended on selling both Haytham and Jenny into slavery. That it had only been the secret training that the former Pirate-Assassin had given Haytham in secret that peaked Birch’s greed and realization that his father could be a useful tool against the English Brotherhood, if trained properly. The entire mess and the darkness that was soon to claim and harden his father was not something Connor wished on his worst enemy. But if he tried to interfere at best he would sound like a madman… At worst, he could change things for the detriment of many others.

Still, a small, selfish voice whispered in the back of his mind, that he could track down one of the members of his father’s inner circle. With his golden eyes, his father’s journal and the Piece Of Eden he held, it probably would not take a great deal of convincing on his part that he held news of great import. That he might deflect some of the bitterness that had left his beloved so hardened and calloused towards the world was a temptation that Connor did not realize would tease him so mercilessly.

His thoughts jumbled chaotically through his mind as he entered through the Finnegans’ main tavern door, unsurprised to find the place largely empty as it was early morning. There were about four or five red coats – something that made him shift and tense a little, but Cassidy seemed calm as she bustled about the bar.

She called out to him cheerfully “Ah, there you are Connor! Barry and I were getting a little concerned that a bear or a wildcat might have gotten you out there, while you were hunting.”

“I am honored by your concern, Mrs. Finnegan. I am fine. I was able to successfully hunt everything you sent me for. How are you?” He responded quietly, bringing his hands up to his chest, one forming a loose fist, the other gently massaging the knuckles of the closed hand as he moved towards her. Connor’s chin dropped a little towards his chest as he deliberately walked so that he would avoid the couple of tables that the redcoats were sitting and chatting, keeping a couple of tables’ distance between himself and them at all times. His eyes were mainly on Cassidy, but every so often, his eyes would dart towards the soldiers.

“I am glad that you are well. I am doing well and so is Barry. That’s wonderful! The fresh meat will make the stew I have been tending to all day very delicious. We have a guest who will be staying with us for a while. Colonel Monro found the poor boy half drowned and frozen to death in the river outside of New York! He is badly injured and sick, but with luck he will heal. George and Barry are upstairs, making sure that the man is comfortable.” Cassidy answered, a concerned frown appearing on her face as she talked about the poor lad that the Colonel had brought in. He would be about the age that their son would have been, had he not been killed. Barry was hesitant in taking care of the young man, grumbling that the other was probably a drunken deckhand who had been clumsy enough to fall from his ship, but Cassidy was unconvinced.

Connor tensed a little at that. He knew that name – Colonel George Monro had been the military commander of New York for years. He had been a very popular leader among the red coats and had been mourned when he died to the injuries he had sustained in the Great Fire of New York. Monro had been briefly mentioned several times in his father’s journal as well, as a good friend. The likelihood of the colonel being a Templar was fairly high. “I see. Is the Colonel’s presence the reason why you are playing hosts to soldiers at this time of the day?” Connor asked softly, moving closer and carefully setting the carefully wrapped and butchered rabbits on the counter where Cassidy had motioned for them to go.

“Yes, and the colonel is a good friend of ours. We met him through our son, who had been in training years ago.” She responded, a sad expression flashing across her face for a few moments as the bittersweet memories of her son coming home one day in a fine uniform, eyes bright with a fierce joy and determination as he had talked about finding a purpose greater than himself to serve.

Connor nodded once, eyes softening a little as he pulled the salted and wrapped cuts of meat from the two elk he had hunted from his pack, knowing to set them in the drying area of the back pantry. The Finnegans’ son had died a few years ago, killed under mysterious circumstances, and both of them missed him dearly. “I see. Do you want me to find medicine or healing tinctures for the injured guest, or has the Colonel left such things? Will he need fresh bandages?”

“We have everything we need to take care of our injured and ill guest.” Barry called from the stairs. “You seem to know a lot about what a person might need when unwell.”

Connor shrugged a little. “It comes in handy to know what you might need. I have been hunting since I was a child and it is a largely solitary business. If one gets injured on the Frontier, it is wise to be carrying such things in your back as aid is hard to come by and often quite costly, otherwise.” He had been taught some Colonial healing methods by Achilles during his training.

“You have a good point there. If you would not mind assisting us with the clumsy deckhand, we would be very grateful.” Barry asked. He was entirely unconvinced about the young man that Colonel Monro had brought in, but he wo

uld try to help the poor idiot heal up as much as he could.

“I do not mind helping with injured person.” Connor responded truthfully, noting the well dressed older man who had appeared on the stairs behind Barry. The time traveler shifted around a little, so that Cassidy could move around him a bit more easily.

As Barry and the man who was probably Colonel Monro walked down the stairs, Connor noted that the stranger was wearing a Templar Cross- and a few bandits could be seen in their greenish-black and orange uniforms through a couple of windows.

“Connor, what do you see?” Cassidy asked quietly, as the utter and sudden stillness within the young man usually heralded what might become troublesome… or a large guard patrol moving through the area.

“More of those uniform-wearing gang members.“ Connor answered softly back. “They are by one of the windows and appear to be lurking. One of them has a rifle and a bayonet.”

“That could be a bit dangerous. I wonder why they’ve chosen to loiter around my tavern.” Barry complained as a surly expression appeared on his face.

“They are climbing up the side of the other building and I do not see them any longer. I do hope that they are not planning on causing more trouble for others, but it is likely that they are… Ah- they’re being chased by guardsmen.” Connor remarked as several red coats scrambled up the same building after the bandits. He might be able to track them longer if he had used his second sight… but had no real reason to do so.

“Is there a particular reason for why you were concerned about the movements of the bandits?” Monro asked curiously, carefully watching the young man. There was something strangely familiar about Connor, although what it might be, the Templar could only guess.

“Several weeks ago four members of the same gang were in here, threatening the Finnegans. They wanted protection money. I stepped in and convinced them to leave. They have yet to return, however such people can become… Troublesome to deal with if one goes against what they wish. But they are twice the bother if one gives into their demands.” The native answered quietly.

Monro nodded in agreement, “It is unfortunate that some resort to such methods in an attempt to gain what they want in

life. I would like to know the name of the young man who has been helping a couple of dear friends of mine.”

“You may call me Connor, if you wish.” The time-traveling Assassin responded uncertain as to what to do. The older man had a stern but compassionate air about him. It was oddly distracting.

“Is Connor a trade name?” The colonel asked curiously. They had recently gotten a missive from the French Rite. There was a time-displaced person in the English Colonies, brought there by a Piece of Eden. They knew that such a thing occurred as the Sword of Eden had lit up, showing the ghostly form of a man. The second image that had been seen was a map of the colonies, a shimmering spot for several moments. From the English Rite- Grandmaster Birch had an Apple in his possession- they had contact from a spirit, telling of a traveler from another time. The spirit- Juno as she had named herself - spoke in warning, that this traveler might come to harm the balance of things. Additionally the traveler was an Assassin- a powerful and clever one who had the Piece of Eden that brought him back in time.

It was one of the reasons why Monro had save the life other Assassin currently badly injured and resting in one of the Finnegan’s rooms. George had principally rescued the young man as if they could turn the Assassin to the Templar cause, he would be incredibly useful. If the Assassin did turn he may have had contact with the time-traveler and might give them a better identification and what it was that the traveler was trying to accomplish.

“It is the name I go by.” The young man answered, raising an eyebrow a little at the response, “Do you think I Have another? At least… One you might have a chance to pronounce…”

Both Cassidy and Barry blinked a little in surprise, it seemed as though Connor was almost… challenging the Colonel? The young man did not seem to like his presence at all. Then again, Connor general did not like dealing with guards and soldiers. While it was not overtly hostile, Connor would be highly sarcastic and passive aggressive. He would additionally leave their presence as soon as he was relatively certain that the British Guards would not cause trouble.

“I see, if you wish to be known by Connor it is your choice.“ Monro answered mildly, not the least bit of-put by the suspicion and not quite hostility coming from the younger man. They had little to show the native peoples of these lands but broken promises and dead loved ones and allies. “I will come by to check on the inured guest when I am able to do so. If you need anything for his care or treatment do not hesitate to reach out to me.”

Barry nodded in acknowledgement as Cassidy gently coaxed the disgruntled Connor upstairs to see the new guest.

Connor’s eyes widened in shock and dismay as he recognized the prone figure. He was fairly certain- and a closer look at the battered and bandaged face- as well as the weapons that were set on the bedside table. “I recognize this man. His name is Shay.“ Connor knew that the Finnegans were neutral and unaware of the centuries long secret war. The Colonel on the other hand wore a Templar cross and

clothes similar to his father’s Templar uniform. Why the Templar might wish to save the life of an Assassin, Connor could only guess. The Templar probably wanted something from Shay- information about the Colonial Brotherhood? Given how widespread the Assassins were at this point in time- far from the truth of the Creed they were supposed to uphold…

“When and how did you meet Shay?” Cassidy asked curiously. It was a strange if fortuitous coincidence that the two of them had met before. She wondered how well Connor knew this mysterious and well armed stranger.

Connor carefully and with a surprising about of practice, checked the stranger’s bandages and injuries. “Several months ago- before I met the two of you. I was hunting, deep in the frontier. I nearly bumped into him. He told me that I was private property and the small valley I had stumbled across was owned by someone he knew, so I left.”

“Ah, what was your impression of him?“ Cassidy inquired. “I did not know that you had training as a physician, Connor.”

"He was friendly, if a bit cautious.” Connor responded, a small smile appearing on his face as he thought of the older Assassin. There had been something genuinely approachable about Shay and Connor would have liked to speak with him longer – and might have, had the French Assassin not gone looking for Shay. He wondered if the battered state Shay was currently in had anything to do with the mission that the other had been sent on… Or if Templars were to blame for Shay’s current state. “I am no physician, but I did learn a few ways to bandage up others as well as myself. Among a few other things. It comes in handy, if one gets injured out in the frontier, to know how to put oneself back together again.”

“That does make sense. We have been wanting for you to meet Colonel Monro for a few weeks now. He is a busy man, but I think he does have time for a bit of talk.” She murmured.

“I… I suppose I will speak with him, if you truly wish me to. I am uncertain as to why you would wish me to do so.” Connor responded, shifting a little. He was hesitant to speak with the Templar, but perhaps this was part of what the spirit wanted him to learn. The second encounter he had with a spirit in conjunction with a Piece of Eden, Ratonhnhake:ton had decided to drop the Apple into the bottom of the ocean so that no one would be tempted by Its’ power.

“I would like you to talk to him, but if you do not want to, or are not feeling up to it, I understand. You have been out hunting for a while.” Cassidy responded, knowing well that Connor was very wary of the British soldiers and was unsurprised by his reticence.

“Very well. I will see if he wishes to speak with me. Whether or not he will…” Connor shrugged a little. His gaze lingered on Shay if he wondered if he should try to contact the Colonial Brotherhood, to inform them of Shay’s injured but currently living state. However the actions of those who wore the symbol within New York concerned Connor greatly.


	13. Time Travel AU part four

He headed back to the first floor, noting that the colonel and the trio of soldiers who had carried Shay to the Finnegans’ place were still there. Monro and Barry were speaking with one another while the other soldiers sat together at a table and appeared to be playing a game of some kind. As they seemed to be oblivious to his presence … Never mind the fact that Connor had moved down the stairs as silently as he could, knowing where to avoid the squeaks in the stair and the floor as he moved towards Barry and Monro, silently watching the two of them interact with one another. He was gathering some of the dishes that were recently cleaned and needed to be put away, idly curious as to how long it would take one of the five of them to notice his presence.

Connor doubted the way that the Colonial Brotherhood was being led at this time. It did not mean that he was going to initiate a conversation with a strange Templar while he had a Piece of Eden on him was… Not something that Connor was willing to do. Even and possibly in spite of the possibility that he had been sent back into the past by a spirit aided by the Piece of Eden he currently possessed in order to be able to interact with his father on more neutral terms

“You must be the young man who has been helping my dear friends for the past few months.” Monro spoke up after Connor finished putting away the rest of the cleaned dishes. “Connor, I do thank you for helping them.”

“Yes I have been aiding them in exchange for a place to stay and food. It is honest work and I enjoy doing it for them as they are kind and generous when they are able to be.” The native responded, shifting a little as he eyed Monro warily.

The Templar moved closer to Connor, seemingly oblivious to his hesitance and held out a hand to shake “It is good to meet you, as they speak of you in fond terms and I found myself eager to meet you.”

“…Thank you.” Connor answered back, shaking the other’s hand firmly, still uncertain and suspicious as to what the purposes that the Templar in front of him had in mind. From what he had been able to gather, The Finnegans’ son must have joined the Templar Order at some point before the man’s death. He must have been trained or mentored by Monro. It did make sense to have friendly contact with at least several of the local tavern and inn keepers, as they were able to gather a lot of information from their patrons.

Along with the fact that Monro had the opportunity to meet them through their son as a non-suspicious or potentially threatening method… He mentally shook himself. Connor knew that he needed to stay focused, or he might have to deal with the very real possibility of being jailed for acting oddly… Or threatening friends of an influential government official. “They have spoken of you to me. They care for you and respect you greatly. I was very curious about you as well.”

The Colonel seemed as though he was about to speak, but before he could, a British messenger came sprinting through the front door, heading straight for the commander, a leather satchel clutched tightly in one hand. The messenger tried to stop, but he slid on the recently cleaned wooden floor, and would have fallen to the ground – or toppled into a chair, had Connor not taken a step and a half towards the swiftly moving soldier.

Connor placed one hand on the messenger’s closer shoulder, his other hand coming up to grab the back of the other’s shirt, righting and slowing the soldier’s momentum. He set the soldier down carefully on his feet before backing away. The entire scene took place in a handful of seconds.

The Messenger was still panting and wide-eyed, uncertain as to what just happened to him. “Letter for you, sir! Very urgent. Thank you…For helping me keep my balance…” The soldier managed out between harsh pants, shakily holding the letter he had pulled out of the bag, directing his thanks towards the startlingly swift young man.

“You are welcome. Falling is an unpleasant experience, particularly in front of one’s commanding officer. I am going to go check on the injured guest, to see if Cassidy needs any assistance with him.” Connor responded quietly, moving off before anyone could say anything else. He hoped that whatever it was in the letter was sufficiently distracting that the Templar did not note the casual display of strength as well as how much it took to do that.

~-~-~-~-

It took most of a year for Shay to heal – and not simply the physical wounds that marred the other Assassin’s body, and the pneumonia that hit Shay doubly hard given the fact that he had been shot clean through the back – whether or not one of his lungs had been punctured was something that Connor had tensely monitored. Given the fact that when Shay coughed, he did not cough up blood before he healed, that had been a positive sign.

Shay had been incredibly lucky that he had not lost the eye that had been slashed at. The extensive number and severity of the other’s wounds was horrific… The fact that Shay had been able to survive at all was incredible. Even if the Irish American did have golden eyes (which Connor had found out during the first of the particularly terrible series of nightmares that afflicted Shay’s mind), the rate at which he healed was remarkable.

During Shay’s recovery, Monro had visited at least once a month. Once every two weeks for a couple of hours if the Templar’s duties permitted him to, to quietly talk to the Assassin, to try to find out what happened to him to put Shay into such a terrible state. Connor hid and listened to the cyclical and nonsense-filled conversations that resulted from Monro’s gentle interrogation. Whether the illness and his injuries were to blame, or whatever part of Shay’s mind that was not addled by his traumatic experience knew not to trust the gilded tongue of a Templar, Connor could only guess.

As Shay had grown stronger, Connor would have been tempted to steal the older Assassin away in the night and bring him to the Homestead, had they been in the time he had been from. However, between the darkness that was starting to show much more within the Assassin gangs in the city and the fact that he would be a complete stranger bringing in an injured and missing Assassin… It would not be the prudent thing to do.Additionally, from what Connor had observed, the Templars – or Monro at least – had not put Shay in this state, but had rather found him mostly drowned in a river and had taken him out of it to see if he was alive.

What had remained of Shay’s Assassin’s robes however, were long gone. Curiously, his weapons – including Shay’s hidden blade – were fully intact however. He rather suspected that the Templar had Shay changed out of his Assassin’s robes. Not that Connor was supposed to know that the Finnegans did have Shay’s weapons – locked in a small chest that the Colonel had asked them to watch over.

Connor came back from another hunt, to find the streets strangely full of British soldiers –not that any of them spotted him slipping from shadow to shadow, suddenly very much alert. Perhaps Shay was conscious enough to make sense for more than a sentence or two? If that was so… Connor felt incredibly conflicted as his decision crystallized in his mind. With the Assassin gangs harassing the populace, there was little chance that Connor was going to go to them with the news that one of their fallen brothers was currently being tended to by a loosely Templar-Allied couple. They were a violent, thuggish bunch, and the more clever ones were a hazard to be around.

He hoped that his initial impression of Shay – a friendly, decent sort – was not wrong. If Shay was not…. The Finnegan’s could be in a great deal of danger. Connor moved more swiftly, entering through a side door. He moved with great speed, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible, hoping that nothing was wrong, but preparing for trouble. Connor was disheartened to find another group of four Assassin-bandits in the tavern. However, Shay had a handle on the situation, as the inured Assassin finished punching the last banding down and was talking to a suddenly appearing Colonel Monro. Connor quietly observed the conversation- Shay was wary of the Templar, and suspiciously took his weapons back, in addition to what Connor was certain was a Templar Uniform.

He was fairly certain that Shay- who had not glanced in his direction and went upstairs to immediately to go put on the only clothes he had. Monro called out. “I can see you, Connor. I know that you are wary of me, and that you recognize the Templar Cross for what it is. But if you are an Assassin you must not trust the brotherhood much anymore, as you could have gone to them to inform of them of Master Cormac’s survival of whatever it was that caused him to be half-drown, shot in the back and down with Pneumonia and in a river in Winter.”

“What gives you the impression that I know anything about what you spoke of at all? I am wary of you as you are an officer in the British forces, and of some note, by how others defer to you. It is those like you who speak pretty words of truce and treating, writing on pieces of paper before blatantly disregarding what was written.  I have heard of those in your uniform who search for my and other’s tribes to sell them into slavery.” Connor growled quietly, golden brown eyes flashing in irritation as he paced along the edge of the room. Monro appeared to be a strict man, with a streak of kindness and empathy… At least towards those who might prove useful, or as a mask for public use. “The ideology you support for is only one piece of my hesitance.”

Monro flinched at the harsh condemnation, delivered in a passionate and very blunt but eloquent manner. Connor had been taught how to argue in English, and argue well. Someone had put a great effort and time into. His last sentence caught his attention and confirmed that Connor was aware of the secret war. “It is unfortunate that such things happen, and the brigands who try to enslave others while wearing this uniform to do not deserve to wear it and tarnish the reputation of the British Empire when they do so. You are aware of what the Templar Order and the Brotherhood of Assassins are, from your take of ideology. Templars seek to rule in the colonies, to prevent such things from happening, as well as to ensure that the treaty with Iroquois nation and the individual tribes are upheld. We seek to create and maintain a society where all will be safe, regardless of race, gender or religion. The Assassins seek absolute freedom for each individual… for each to choose as they will, even if it is to harm or attempt to enslave another. Or to break treaty lines and restrictions because they feel it is the individual’s choice to do so.“

Connor listened to the Templar speak, having heard those arguments from his father on multiple occasions. “I am aware of the fight between secret organizations. However, the oppression and subjugation of everyone equally is still oppression. If one tries to control a populace with an unrelenting steel grasp, it never ends well, particularly for those in control. Templars have become tyrannical and overbearing once they rose to power. Perhaps not immediately and not their intent, but the desire for control and lust for power is dangerous and highly corruptive an influence.”

“And Assassins can become arrogant as well as so isolated from those they profess to protect that they are destructive and cause more anarchy and pain than anything else.” Monro calmly countered.

“It is unfortunate that no middle ground can seem to be found between the two orders. With certain checks and balances to keep one from getting off-balance to the point of destructiveness. Together the two groups might accomplish a great deal of good… but the bloodshed and the bitterness of the survivors… it is unlikely such a thing would be attempted as more than a ploy or a trap.” Connor sighed quietly, Then again with how the Brotherhood was being run- in this city at least- the Brotherhood had badly lost its way, and was little more than armed bandits with favored targets to harass. If most of the English Colonial brotherhood had been like during this time, Connor understood his father’s reticence for the Brotherhood returning as a legitimate threat to the populace, in addition to the Templar’s control. But why had none of this found its way into his father’s journal?

“A balance between the oppression you fear and the absolute anarchy that the Assassins here wish for would be best, and a cease-fire agreement in the very least would be a good start.” Monro acknowledged. “However, the temperament of the Assassins here is not in the least bit conducive to anything but fighting, unfortunately. I think that you knew that already. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why you left?”

“Why do you think I was an Assassin, but no longer? A commitment such as a cause tends to be life-long.” Connor rebutted. “If I was an Assassin. I might have been a mercenary, paid to work with them and decided it was not to my liking.”

“This is true, however, the knowledge that you allude to possessing by the way you are debating with me proves otherwise… Additionally, you possess hidden blades, the make of which can only be gotten from the Brotherhood.” Monro pointed out gesturing to Connor’s bracers. He would occasionally find the young man wearing them after coming back from hunting.

“You grandmaster has hidden blades, and I rather doubt that he has ever been an Assassin, but rather took them from an Assassin whom he had killed, for the usefulness of the blades, should one master them without slicing their hands and wrists up completely.” Connor countered quietly, a bit of a bitter taste in his mouth at implying that he would have killed an Assassin to gain the blades he used. He earned them rightfully, but saying as such to this Templar would confirm his allegiance. Not that Connor was allied to this Colonial Brotherhood. Something had gone terribly wrong.

A look of surprise flashed across the Colonel’s face at his words, and Connor realized with rising consternation that it would be very strange for him to have known that, unless he had encountered the grandmaster and had gotten close enough to see it… Or had watched him use the blade on another. Before either of them could do or say anything else, Shay came back down the stairs, clean-shaven and wearing the Templar uniform he had been given. It was a fairly subtle uniform, so there was a chance that Shay was wholly unaware of what it was… And to whom Monro owed his allegiance.

“Er… You are… Connor, aye? We met once before you helped the Finnegans nurse me back to health. What was the reason you were in the particular valley that we met? It was private property.” Shay responded, frowning a little as he struggled to figure out if Connor was an Assassin or not. He was… He did not want to go back to them, but he was not about to run off to join the Templars either. Shay wanted to finish healing and… and then he would decide what he wanted to do.

“I told you then what I will tell you now; I was out hunting, and did not realize that someone had claimed the land.” Connor lied, the falsehood easily coming from his lips. “That was why after we finished speaking, I left the area. That and your friend sounded very… Annoyed about something, and I did not wish to escalate the situation.”

“That he was… And he is no friend of mine, never was. More like he barely tolerated me. I am not sure why, then again he is a pretentious French prick. He is the one who gave me the bullet in my back.” Shay groused. He hoped that it was Chevalier who had shot him in the back… But Liam had been one of the few who had a pistol trained on him before Shay had decided to dive into the bay, to try to make a sacrificial point. He hoped that the message had come across, and that The Manuscript had been lost forever, as he did not have it.

Chevalier had told him that according to the readings that the Parisian Brotherhood had gotten from a spirit that spoke through the Apple of Eden they had been protecting, that someone had traveled back in time. This person had ties to the Templar Order and could wreak untold amounts of havoc, if not found and convinced to go back to their native time before it was too late. Maybe the time-traveler had come back, trying to stop him from causing the Lisbon earthquake, as the time traveler had supposedly appeared a couple of days before he had left for Lisbon.

The same day he had met Connor. Something pressed against the back of Shay’s mind, starting to put the pieces of the more lucid bits of his memories of the past nine or so months, when he had spent just with Connor. The concerned and almost guilty expression he could see in the young man’s face. The occasional whisper if he wanted to go… Somewhere. A couple of times, the lad had even gone so far as to open a window, beginning to pick Shay up before reconsidering something and putting him back down, saying that he was re-positioning Shay, to avoid bed sores.

Connor shifted a little at the suddenly intense stare from Shay and murmured “I will ask the Finnegans if they have anything that they require of me. I sense that the Colonel might wish to speak with you, Shay.” With that, he left the main floor of the tavern, going to where he knew Cassidy was as his second sight showed him her location.


	14. Time Travel AU part five

The months passed in a blur of fast moments and slow days. Connor aided Shay in ridding New York of the bandits who supposedly worked for the Assassins, and hid from the Templars that Shay was interacting with at increasingly frequent intervals. He was glad that Shay had re-acquired The Morrigan, as being on the sea was something that the older man clearly enjoyed. Despite the fact that things were getting easier for the people of New York… Connor felt a strange sense of urgency, as if something big was going to happen… Or that he was running out of time to do something, but what? He had gained more perspective and understanding about the past of both the English Colonial Rite and Brotherhood, and what he remembered of current events, Cormac was still alive in his time, and would take control of the American Rite when he returned from whatever mission his father had sent him on that had taken the emotionally-driven and compassionate Templar away for so long.

Monro had found him - an ability that the Colonel possessed and used with distressing regularity. He had no real desire to interact with the Templar. Not because he found the other’s presence to be offensive, but it was… Startlingly easy to speak with Monro. He had a calm presence that fostered an air of safety and provoked within Connor a distressingly strong desire to make sure that the other was pleased with what he was doing. Pleased with him. He could understand why Shay was pulled onto the Templar’s side. Monro had talked him into accompanying the other on a walk and would not say where they were going or why.

Connor spotted Shay looking wide eyed and more than a little nervous, and a voice spoke from his right side and from the shadows that he had never thought he would hear before. The voice caused him to flinch back in shock as his eyes widened and his eyes stung fiercely. A heavy, guilty feeling settled in his chest as the voice spoke, and he was unable to process what the person was saying. Only that the other was talking.

His breathing was shallow and rapid, and Connor could feel himself trembling slightly as he forced himself to look over at the source of the voice. He clapped one hand to his mouth as he tried not to speak out, lest he say something that he truly should not. Once rake:ni stopped speaking, staring at him expectantly, Connor realized that he had been asked a question. “I… I did not catch what you… What you said before. My mind was… Elsewhere.”

“I asked if you were the time traveler that the same spirit advised both Templars and Assassins to be on guard against changing things? According to Shay she said that you had a connection to the Templar Order through the heart and by blood. She warned our fellow Templars that you were a Master Assassin who destroyed a Templar Rite in your time almost single-handedly and that you had golden eyes. So which is true, if either? I know you have a Piece of Eden on you, it is in that bag. I can see it.” Haytham repeated patiently, raising an eyebrow at the response his presence provoked within the young man.

“Both are. I did not come here of my own volition. A different spirit, or perhaps the same one, spoke to me after I found the Piece of Eden that was to bring me here. She said that I had suffered greatly due to Juno’s machinations, and that she would… She would allow me to understand something that I did not before.” Connor responded, unable to actually look at Haytham. It hurt far too much. “Have you… Have you found your older sister yet?”

“Yes I have. I recently returned from that trip… What do you mean that both are true? How can you be tied to the Brotherhood out of a misguided sense of duty, but by blood and by the desire of your heart, you are tied to the Templar Order in some way?” Haytham pressed, moving closer to the younger man. He was quite handsome and quite obviously recognized him. Whichever of his Templars had seduced (ineffectual, or perhaps because they had betrayed him in some fashion) Connor was lucky, and Haytham tried not to feel a stirring of jealousy. It was odd that he would not look at him, beyond the occasional flash of lovely brown eyes that were full of emotions Haytham could not identify.

Connor tried to take a step backwards, but Monro put a hand on the small of Connor’s back, arresting the time-traveling Assassin’s movements. “As you said, I am an Assassin… My… My father is a Templar. He was unaware of who I was until I was fifteen years old, at the youngest. By the time we first met properly… I had been an Assassin for years. Occasionally we would work together, but most of the time we argued and fought one another.” He swallowed dryly before looking at Haytham directly for a couple of moments, seemingly weighing what he wanted to do. “I… Did have a Templar lover as well. Not that I tried to use them… Will try? To use them for information. Time travel is confusing.”

All three of them were curious as to what sort of person attracted the Assassin that he would ignore one of the unspoken but cardinal rules; Do Not Fall In Love With The Enemy. Haytham’s voice was a bit kinder now, as he continued to move closer to the quietly distraught Assassin. Clearly the reasons why he destroyed the Templar Rite were complicated, and something weighed heavily on the other’s soul. Haytham was certain he could use that “I see. I believe what you are saying. How did you know about my sister? Her… Her existence is not something that many know of, Assassins in particular.”

“I… Would rather not tell you.” Connor hesitated for another couple of seconds, watching Haytham very closely, letting out a low sigh before moving at full speed towards Haytham. The sense of urgency was at a fever pitch, and he knew for certainty (though how he knew, Connor could not guess at the moment) that his time in the past was short. He pressed a kiss to Haytham’s lips, whispering “Konoronkwha, rake:ni.” Before he felt the power of the Piece of Eden take hold and the world around him shifted and blurred dizzyingly.

~-~-~-

Connor found himself once again in the room he had found the Piece of Eden originally, the taste of Haytham’s lips still on his. He would make sure to keep an eye out for one Shay Patrick Cormac, or at least attempt to find out what had happened to the Templar. He had been a good man, and provided the other was not bent on revenge against him for killing most of the Colonial inner circle, they might be able to seek peace with one another. Connor knew that Aveline was interested in trying to make peace with the Templars, provided that they were not intolerable.

The only way he had been able to solve all of the riddles and successfully evade all of the traps that had been in his path in order to get the time-travel Piece of Eden, was due to his second sight showing most of them. Should he bring such a potentially destructive device to the Parisian Brotherhood? Should anyone have this much power?

No. Like the Apple of Eden he had taken from Washington, this was not something that man should have. Any man, no matter how noble, would be tempted by the power that manipulating time might bring them. He would tell them that he was unsuccessful in retrieving the Piece of Eden, and risking doing so would quite likely mean the deaths of the Assassins they sent after it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Konoronkwha means I love you in mohawk

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Tumblr for the 2016 ConHayth week


End file.
